


Telanadas

by GervaiseAlfyn



Series: Champions of Light [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Deviates From Canon, Explicit Language, Hasmal, Implied Sexual Content, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), M/M, Post Trespasser, Starkhaven, Tevinter Imperium, Wycome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 03:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 137,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8952415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GervaiseAlfyn/pseuds/GervaiseAlfyn
Summary: What do you do when you world falls apart?   Pick yourself up and start again.   Enavir Lavellan refuses to be defeated by recent events that have left him maimed, betrayed and soon to be bereft of the love of his life.   He will make a difference for the elves of Thedas and save them from those who would exploit them for their own ends or die trying.   Sometimes though, you can try too hard and the mental strain takes its toll.





	1. Chapter 1

_The Journal of Enavir Lavellan_

_Havestmere 9:44_

_It is finally over; the Inquisition is no more.   I ought not to be bitter at this since it was my decision to disband the organisation and yet I still seethe at the way it came about.   That emotion is equally hard to explain since I never expected any different from the rulers of this world; not when I first took on the role of Inquisitor.   I suppose I had started to believe the adulation and support that I received.   I naively thought I had made a difference in the way my race would be viewed and in how the hierarchy would operate in the future.   I should have remained a cynic but even then I think I would have responded just the same._

_The problem is that I am no longer ignorant in the ways of the world, in particular how the human nobles conduct themselves.   It was easy to be prejudiced through isolation and ignorance, believing all humans to be the same.   I know now that is not the case.   No race is innocent in creating the current corrupt world we live in but equally no race is without hope for restoration.   The challenge is bringing those together who have sufficient desire and determination to bring about real change; then surviving long enough to succeed, without in turn becoming corrupted themselves by the system._

_Is Solas right; is the corruption of any powerful organisation or group of individuals inevitable?   Are we really destined constantly to repeat the mistakes of history?   Have others already arrived at that conclusion in the past, hence the lack of motivation to bring about change in the present among the ruling elite?   Is it not simply selfish protectionism but apathetic realism?   Is the world really without hope of anything better?_

_I find that I cannot believe that to be the case.   It is difficult to know what to believe in outside of that refusal to accept the inevitable.     I want to believe in something but it is increasingly difficult to do so.   Apparently my elven gods were nothing more than corrupt leaders, no different to modern Magisters or southern nobles.   They just had incredible power that made them that much more difficult to challenge and conquer without destroying the fabric of the world. Another of their number now seeks to reverse that action because this current world seems worse than the one he knew. I cannot let that happen._

_Meanwhile the Chantry still cling to their pointless dogma that we should praise the name of a god who does nothing to improve the situation in this corrupt world, content to let the powerless suffer along with those who are not.   I still puzzle over the Chant and how Andraste’s words came to be interpreted in that way.   I feel sure I am missing something.   Leliana, now Divine Victoria, is called a heretic by many and yet she seems to have a view of the Maker that I find easier to accept.   She claims the Maker did not abandon the world but is still here all around us, in the beauty of nature and the true nobility that we occasionally manage to express in our lives, despite everything that would seek to prevent this.   That is something I can believe in; the indomitable beauty of the soul that gives me hope and convinces me that corruption is not inevitable; Telanadas, nothing is inevitable._ **  
**

 *****

            As their ship rounded the headland that shielded the city of Wycome from view to the south, the evening sun dipped towards the horizon, the last rays of its light highlighting the city’s clustering of white washed buildings.   Enavir glanced towards the captain with a questioning look.   The other responded with a brief nod.

            “Aye you can tell your friend his ordeal is nearly over.   We’ll be docking on the evening tide.”

            Enavir returned to his cabin, where Dorian was lying on the bed, quietly moaning to himself.   Sitting himself at his side, he stroked his hair gently.

            “We’re in sight of Wycombe.   Isn’t it time you dressed?”

            “It’s all I can do not to throw up.   Still the sooner I can get off this tub the better.   What do you suggest is the most appropriate attire to meet your clan?”

            “It’s your choice; whatever you think will create a good impression.”

            “In that case, perhaps I shall go naked,” Dorian allowed a mischievous grin to cross his face.

            “Now that _would_ be an insult, not to mention it would emphasise the fact that you are human.”

            “Well they can hardly miss that one, can they?   Very well, how about my ambassador robes? Your mother is on the city council after all.”

            “I was thinking something a bit simpler perhaps; less obviously shrieking I’m a superior Tevinter Magister.”

            Dorian sat up and swung round on the bed alongside Enavir, cocking his head on one side as he looked at him.

            “You’re not ashamed of me are you Amatus?”

            “Of course not, just nervous that’s all.   I really want them to like you. It won’t change how I feel about you if they don’t, I accepted that fact when we became lovers, but it would make me happier if they did. They’re my family.”

            “I sometimes forget that you’ve much better memories of your relatives than I have.” Dorian gave him a swift kiss on the cheek and stood up. “However, you have to admit that I really don’t do simple.”

            Enavir reflected that he was right; even Dorian’s small clothes were made of silk.   He moved across to rummage through the trunk of clothes they had brought with them, while Dorian started to wash himself in the bowl beside the bed.

            “You also have to concede,” continued Dorian, “that your taste in clothes is not exactly conventional Dalish attire either.”

            “Yes, I’ll admit you have been a very bad influence on me in that respect, which is why I think we may as well don similar outfits.   That way it will be clear to the clan that we consider each other equals.”

            “Really?” Dorian raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Or is it that you want to emphasise that we _are_ a couple?”

            Enavir ignored the jibe. “With any luck they’ll assume it’s our uniform from the Inquisition.”

            “Except we never had one and besides there is no more Inquisition.”

            “Stop being pedantic and put on this white dragon scale, with gold silk and black trim,” he removed it from the trunk. “If we are going to put on a show we may as well go the whole hog.”

            “Absolutely, I couldn’t have chosen better myself.   You are developing a true sense of style, Amatus.”

            Their conversation was interrupted by a series of pops and bangs from the exterior.   Enavir ran to the cabin window and strained to see in the direction of the sound.

            “Fireworks; now who do you suppose those are for?”

            “A reception for us perhaps?” Dorian raised his eyebrows.

            “We haven’t even docked yet, so how would they know?”

            Dorian suddenly patted the side of his head in realisation.

            “Of course, it’s the beginning of Umbralis.”

            Enavir looked at him blankly.

            “The Tevinter name for First Fall.   They must be celebrating Satinalia.”

            “Oh you’ve mentioned about that before. That’s something special isn’t it?”

            “Trust a Dalish elf not to know its significance.   We haven’t had a proper celebration since I came south.   True much of the time we have been involved in rather more serious issues but even so, I was beginning to think that the south had no sense of fun at all.   Mind you, I bet it’s nothing like it is in Minrathous.   I’m sorry to have missed it again.”

            “That’s where you’re wrong.   One thing I do know about Wycome is that it is _the_ revelry capital of Thedas.   They import almost as much wine in a year as the entire Orlesian Empire and mother wrote me that she counts us lucky to have wound up in such a free spirited and joyous place.”

            “In that case, Amatus, I’m sorry that I ever questioned your suggestion that I should choose this route for my journey home. Antivan wine is it?”

            “The very best; along with the not so good as well I should imagine.”

           “Then I shall just have to guide you to ensure you aren’t duped by the locals.”

            Fireworks continued to explode brightly overhead as the ship glided into the harbour.   Enavir and Dorian emerged onto the deck as the sailors started to throw ropes onto the dockside, pulling the ship into its berth.   Dock workers hurried around securing the ropes until the ship was safe at anchor and the gangplank lowered; then hurried aboard to assist with any cargo that needed disembarking.   Enavir paid a group of them to bring their luggage up from below and then led Dorian down onto the dockside.   Despite the festivities there were still enough people eager to earn coin that they were able to secure a wagon and driver to carry them into the city.

            “There is a basic rate of ten silvers,” he informed them, “plus two extra silvers per hour or part thereof.”

            “A bit steep isn’t it?” Dorian objected. “Besides don’t you mean per mile?”

            “No, you heard me right.   Where are you headed?”

           “The Dalish encampment,” said Enavir.

           The driver looked them up and down with a smirk.

           “Well you don’t look like an elf and you don’t dress like an elf but who am I to judge?   The Dalish camp it is then.”

           With that he turned the hour glass next to him and clicked his horses forward, initially at a brisk trot but once they cleared the dock area their progress slowed to a walk as the streets were packed with revellers taking advantage of the mild weather to celebrate out of doors.     Bunting was hung between buildings and posts adorned with flower chains and topped with coloured lanterns. Myriad patterns flickered and danced across their faces.  

           At the first main crossroads their driver was warned to halt and pedestrians had likewise moved to the sides the leave the centre of the thoroughfare clear.   There came the clatter of hooves and rumble of wheels mixed with high pitched screams and yells.   An extraordinary sight crossed in front of them; horses adorned with masks that protruded from their foreheads to resemble that of a bird of prey, stylised wings stuck out either side whilst they were ridden by figures attired as Grey Wardens.   Behind them were towed aravels, filled with children screaming with delight. Three of them passed in quick succession at a brisk canter and disappeared from view.   Dorian looked at Enavir quizzically.

           “Those riders looked like elves to me and weren’t those aravels?”

           “Very much so and I’m pretty sure the leading elf was a friend of mine.”

           “Getting into the spirit of things I see.”

            “So it would seem.”

           As the driver urged his horses forward again, a voice called out his name.

           “Enavir!”

           He looked around the crowd, trying to see the source, finally spying a fair haired female elf waving to him.   She was dressed in a simple dress of green but covered with embroidery of brightly coloured flowers and holding a staff decorated with feathers.

           “Atisha!” He tapped the driver on the shoulder to halt again and helped her into the wagon to join him and Dorian.

           “We saw the ship coming in and wondered if you might be on it, so your Mother sent me to check.   Welcome home.”

           She gave him a warm hug, before turning her attention to Dorian and holding out her arms to him.

           “And you must be his love, Dorian, pleased to meet you.”

           She embraced Doran enthusiastically before smiling back at Enavir, who looked at her curiously.

           “You know already?”

            “Of course I do.   I’m the First so naturally your mother tells me everything.   The others don’t know yet, so be discrete.”

           “If they are as accepting as you, I’d say we’ve no worries,” Dorian quipped.

           “I was the first person Enavir confided in about his desires.   In fact I helped fend off the other girls by kidding everyone along that I had his interest.   I was more familiar with the idea considering I was a city elf first.   The clan took me in when I came into my magic so I wouldn’t have to go to a Circle.”

           “I’m surprised they wanted to take in extra mages from what Minaeve said.”

           “That was a lie,” said Enavir heatedly. “They were not true Dalish.”

           “What’s that?” queried Atisha.

           “I told mother about it,” Enavir responded.

           “Oh that,” she said expressively before turning back to Dorian. “Arranged marriages are the norm among city elves and if you won’t go along with what the elders arrange, you tend to be ostracised. Most elves like Enny would find it impossible to conform so they’d have to leave and often ended up in brothels, to survive as much as anything else but there would be plenty enough humans who’d want their services.   His mother told me that it is often the same with young Dalish; they leave before taking their vallaslin because there is no one for them in the clans and there is a degree of pressure to get married and have kids.   I’m just glad that Enny has found someone who really loves him.   It makes no difference to me that you are human.”

           “I knew I could count on you,” Enavir beamed at her.

           “You fended off the other girls?” Dorian grinned and winked at Enavir.

           “Before we got our vallaslin.   It was me who suggested he take the tears of Mythal.”

           “The marks of Mythal below the eyes only,” explained Enavir. “It is meant to signify that you are unavailable, usually because you had a lover who died and you want to remain true to their memory.   We call them the tears because she sympathises with your loss and weeps that you may never know the happiness of family.   When other elves see this they respect your feelings and do not trouble you on the subject.”

           “So a bit a deception on your part,” smirked Dorian.

           “Well the denying myself the chance of a family was true enough.”

           “And a lot of the clan thought I was to blame because I’d rejected him.”

           “You never told me that.”

           “It wasn’t your fault and I could cope with a little criticism.   Still, I’m glad it can finally come out into the open. May be Joss will agree to marry me now.”

           “You’re saying I’m the reason he’s been holding back all these years?”

           “Pretty much and there was you probably yearning after him,” she gave an exaggerated sigh.

           “Oh, so I have a rival for my affections,” Dorian said expressively.

           “I was joking,” Atisha gave a laugh.

           “Changing the subject, was that Josmael I saw riding a strange looking horse pulling an aravel?”

           “That’s right.   It’s become something of a festival tradition these last two years. After we became the heroes rather than the villains in the city, some of the old timers started recalling stories about Garahel during the Fourth Blight.   Apparently the people of Wycome would have been doomed but for the Grey Wardens flying them out on aravels.”

           “Flying?”

           “That bit is probably an exaggeration but the story goes that whilst Garahel was a city elf, he got the idea from the Dalish of using land ships to rescue the people towed by the griffons.   They really did exist in those days.   So that gave us the idea of earning some more goodwill by entertaining the children and keeping alive the story of the hero Garahel at the same time.   Hence the rather strange looking horses.   We knew the halla would never do and you had advised buying in as many horses as we could, so our crafts people made the masks to look like griffon heads, we fastened the wings to the harness and Joss and the others learned to steer from the back of the horses.   You saw the results and the first time we did it the rides proved so popular that we’ve kept on doing them at festivals ever since.”

           The wagon reached the city square and the driver turned the hour glass, marking off a bead on his tally. It was an enormous expanse in which all manner of entertainment was taking place, from jugglers, stilt walkers and acrobats to puppet shows and fire eaters.   Bands played joyful music and people danced enthusiastically. Many were dressed in flamboyant costumes and even more ostentatious masks.   Enavir was reminded briefly of Orlais but it was clear these people were simply dressed that way for the fun of it.  

           The wagon proceeded slowly around the perimeter. As they approached the far side they noticed three figures engaged in what appeared to be a comedy pantomime. What arrested their attention was the fact that one of them was sporting a large set of horns and a mask that definitely looked like a parody of a qunari.   They tapped the driver on the shoulder to indicate he should halt.

            It appeared that the large qunari was in pursuit of a much shorter figure brandishing a staff and therefore clearly intended to be a mage.   This seemed confirmed by the fact that every so often the figure would turn, wave the staff and toss a fire cracker into the path of the qunari to simulate a spell.   The part which had the whole crowd in fits of laughter, though, was the figure pursuing the qunari, who was wearing the mask of a huge mabari hound slung across their chest, so they could manipulate its massive jaws with both their hands and seemed chiefly engaged with biting the backside of the qunari. Every so often the qunari would turn and swing its twin axes at the dog, which jumped out of the way barking, while the mage threw further fire crackers.   After the peculiar trio had circuited the area several times, the mage tricked the qunari into charging a large board in the centre, where its horns became stuck.   The mage then struck it on the back of the head with their staff, whereupon the qunari’s head fell off, at which point a great cheer went up from the watching crowd, followed by tumultuous applause.

           Enavir indicated the driver should continue and the wagon headed up a side street past eating establishments with their clientele sitting at tables out the front, some of whom saluted them with flagons as they passed.

           “If I’m not mistaken,” said Enavir, “that little show we just saw was meant to be Hawke defeating the Arishok.”

           “That’s right,” said Atisha.   “It’s very popular, particularly since you just put down another qunari threat.”

            “I suppose I should be glad it is just Hawke then.   It didn’t look particularly heroic on her part.”

           “Oh I think that’s the whole point.   It’s meant to ridicule the Arishok even more that way.   The actors even claim that Hawke sponsored them to do it.”

            “Really?”

           “She’s probably right,” said Dorian with a laugh.   “I chatted with Hawke in the bar at Skyhold.   Up in Tevinter she is something of a folk hero for killing him.”

           “I’d have thought they would have resented giving such status to a _southern_ mage.”

           “No, that’s why they love her so much.   It is a much bigger insult to the Qunari for a mere southern mage to have killed their Arishok in single combat.   Anyway, I don’t go in for hero worship but I was interested in knowing how she did it.   It helps to get a few tips for fighting them and the general rule is that a mage doesn’t go toe to toe with their warriors if they can avoid it, as we discovered in our encounters.   That’s when Hawke confessed that it wasn’t nearly as heroic as the minstrels, and in particular Varric, made out.   From what she said, that little pantomime was much closer to the truth than you’d realise.”

           The wagon continued its slow progress away from the main action and on towards the northern city gate.   As they passed up the street, they noticed the driver flip the hour glass over again and mark off the bead on his tally.   Enavir was starting to appreciate why they were being charged by the hour.   They had covered very little distance in the time.

           “Is it far?” he enquired of Atisha.

           “We are camped just outside the main city walls, down near the river. Your mother could have had a house in the city but she didn’t feel comfortable there when she tried it, so she went back to her aravel.   Most of the older members of the clan feel the same.   Some of the younger ones have taken to staying with the city elves but everyone is due back tonight for a clan gathering, so you’ve timed your arrival just right to introduce Dorian to everyone.”

           “That’s great,” he responded without enthusiasm.

           “Relax,” she assured him. “We really have lost most of our old prejudices.”

           “Most?”

           “We’re okay with humans now generally but we still aren’t fond of Orlais, the Chantry or Ferelden after the way they treated you.   As for Tevinter, let’s say I wouldn’t announce his origins as an opening gambit.   Let him grow on us first.”

           “I’ll win them over with my natural wit and charm,” Dorian winked at her.

           “We’ll see,” she narrowed her eyes at him.

           Enavir slipped his hand into Dorian’s and squeezed it for reassurance.   He had never felt so apprehensive in his life and realised he was actually shaking.   Dorian noticed this too and looked at him curiously, then gave him a reassuring smile.

           They passed beyond the city gates and at last the ring of aravels came into view.   There was a large campfire in the centre surrounded by a gathering of elves. A second fire, off to one side, had a hog roast being turned on a spit.   The wagon drew to a halt and Atisha called to the others to help with the unloading of the luggage.   They bid the driver adieu and were about to enter into the camp when they heard loud whoops from the direction of the city and the aravels pulled by masked horses appeared.  

           “Hi there Enavir”, called Josmael as he slid down from his horse, his red hair flying loose and appearing as though it were flaming in the firelight. “Glad you could make it. Just let us tend to the horses and we’ll be with you.”

           Enavir and Dorian turned back towards the firelight and he saw his mother had come out to greet him.

           “Aneth ara. Welcome back, my son.”

           They gave each other a warm hug.   She turned to Dorian with an appraising look.

           “And you must be Dorian.   Andaran atish’an.   Come, meet our clan.”       

           Clan Lavellan had always been one of the larger Dalish clans, numbering just over a hundred elves of varying ages, nearly of third of them children.   Enavir had heard that some clans had been struggling to keep their numbers up owing to poor fertility in recent years, so he found it encouraging that a number of the women were cradling infants and others had toddlers snoozing at their sides, clearly born during the time he had been away.   The adults and older children sat silently watching as the two lovers walked forward into the firelight.   A moment later Josmael skipped in a clapped him on the back.

           “So have I missed anything?”

           “I was just about to introduce my companion.   This is Dorian.”   He paused and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “He is Ma sa’lath”.

           There was a brief pause, during which Evavir could feel his heart pounding.   Then Josmael broke the silence, saying cheerily.

           “A man is it, well that explains a lot.”

           A number of the others started to chuckle.   Josmael glanced towards Atisha and she beckoned him to her side.

           “Were you with Enavir when he defeated the ancient Magister?” asked Harel, one of the elders.

           “I was indeed.”

           “And when he fought the god Hakkon?” asked Anya, one of the younger girls.

           “That is correct.”

           “And the other ten dragons?” This was asked by a boy of around six, whom Enavir struggled to name since he would have been a toddler when he left.

           It was evident that his mother had recounted his exploits with the Inquisition in detail, passing on the accounts he had given her in his letters.

           “He was with me for all my adventures.”

           “Not quite all,” said Dorian. “Enavir didn’t trust me at first.   You see, I am from Tevinter.”

           There was another brief pause as the gathered elves considered the information.

           “So you had to prove yourself to him,” stated Tamariel, a grey haired elf and one of the oldest in the clan; the adults of the clan nodded their approval.   “The Keeper has told us of all that Enavir has done. If you stood at his side throughout it all then you are welcome.”

            The other elves nodded or voiced their assent.   Then Tamariel looked penetratingly at Dorian.

           “And is he your Ma sa’lath?”

           “He is my Amatus.   I think that means the same in my native tongue.”

           “What of your people, how do they view your union?”

           Dorian looked self-conscious and Enavir realised that admitting their relationship was suspected but not openly acknowledged in Tevinter might be interpreted the wrong way by his clan. He took the initiative and confronted the issue head on.

           “In Tevinter men who love other men are meant to keep it secret and marry for wealth and power, even if they feel no love for the woman.   Dorian refused to be a hypocrite in this way and so he fell out with his family.   He left home, intending never to return, heard about what was happening in the south and wanted to help. That is how we came to meet.”

           “Are you a blood mage?” asked Ashalla, an elderly hearthmistress.

           “I never have been and I pray I never fall to temptation in that way, however desperate I might be.”

           His mother, the Keeper, stood up and glanced around the assembled elves, receiving the silent nodding of assent.

           “Then you are not just welcomed as a friend, Dorian, but as one who is now part of our clan. You have declared your love for Enavir and he has professed the same for you as we can all bear witness.   Aneth ara, Dorian. Welcome to our family.”

           Then all rose to their feet and one by one embraced Enavir and then Dorian.   Enavir felt the tension leave him and tears prick the corner of his eyes.   Dorian had been accepted by his clan.   With the greeting complete, his mother, indicated a place at her side.

           “Come, join me, and we will begin our celebrations, not just of the current festival but your return to our family.”

            As they sat themselves down, Dorian leaned in close and whispered.

           “Did we just get married?”

           “In a manner of speaking. The true nature of our union is something for us alone to decide. This was just a public acknowledgment of our relationship. Is there a problem?”

           “No, it’s just … so much simpler than in my country.”

           “Dalish marry for love.   There is no official ceremony.   All that is needed is a public declaration and you are regarded as a couple. No one would dream of trying to form a relationship with either person thereafter.   It is a taboo that prevents the possibility of bad feeling and conflict arising from this, which the clan can ill afford. Normally if you are married to someone from another clan, then both clans must bear witness to the union and the couple then become part of whichever clan the male is from.”

           “So I’m the girl in this relationship?”

           “You are not Dalish, so naturally we couldn’t be part of your clan.”

           “So am I Dalish now?”

           “By adoption, just as any city elf would be.”

           His mother glanced across and clearly had caught part of the conversation.

           “Do not trouble yourself unduly Dorian.   We don’t ask you to accept all our customs or follow them, just ensure you remain true to my son and that is sufficient.   It would be a lot more complicated if you were a girl, because of the status of any children.   Luckily I won’t be troubled by any elf bloodied humans from your union.”

           “You wouldn’t approve in that case?”

           “You have to understand it is not simply prejudice.   The offspring of an elf and a human loses all outward appearance of their elf blood.   Our race would literally die out if we did not insist on marriage within our race as the norm.   It is hard, I know, for the individuals concerned but you cannot escape the implications for the future for our people if we did not view it that way.   It is possible that is the reason our ancestors withdrew from contact with humans, to prevent the likelihood occurring.”

           “I thought that was because you blamed us for your loss of immortality.”

           “We called it the Quickening.   At this distance of time we can never know the exact reasons we assumed this, considering Enavir has now informed us the humans were not responsible.   However, our lore mentions suffering human diseases and a change in attitude among those who had much contact with them.   I dare say it was a combination of factors and the distance of time that led us to muddle the real adverse effects of disease, loss of culture and racial identity with the earlier loss of magic and immortality.   It didn’t help that your people forbade us our religion, language and culture during our time as slaves and then the Chantry continued the strictures into modern times.   However, here in clan Lavellan, we are learning a fresh appreciation of our human neighbours, as evidenced in our acceptance of you.”

           During their conversation members of the clan had been circulating with cups and flagons of wine. She handed them both a cup of wine and raised her own.

           “To new beginnings,” she called to the company.

           The other elves raised their own cups and repeated the sentiment.

           “To Enavir and Dorian.”

           Again the words were repeated by the clan and the toast drunk to honour them.   Then Josmael stood forward, holding Atisha’s hand.

           “Atisha has agreed to be Ma sa’lath and I feel the same.”

           “It is true,” she confirmed. “We wish the clan to bear witness to our union.”

           The company cheered and once again embraced the happy couple, after which Enavir raised his cup and declared the toast.

           “To Atisha and Josmael.”

           The wine was flowing freely as the more musical members of the clan started to play simple instruments; pipes, drums and bells, whilst others rose to their feet and started to dance, led by Atisha and Josmael.   It wasn’t the formal dancing that Enavir had been forced to learn in order to be accepted at the Orlesian balls down south but a free spirited, joyous expression of their lust for life, sometimes linking arms with their partners and neighbours, at others simply spinning solo, savouring the moment.   Older elves, not inclined to dance, clapped along with the music or stamped their feet.   The mood was infectious and before long Dorian had risen to his feet, holding out a hand to Enavir.  

           “Come, Amatus, let’s dance.”

           Enavir accepted the invitation, glad that not only had his clan accepted Dorian but that his love was getting into the spirit of their celebration.

           The festivities continued into well past midnight but gradually various individuals started to leave for their beds.   Enavir led Dorian away to his aravel before the end.   He had something in mind that he wanted to do before the music stopped.   The aravel was positioned on the perimeter of their encampment, having been unused during the time he had been away.   Their luggage had been placed on the ground by the door.

           “Well here we are,” he announced. “This was my home before the Inquisition.   As you can see, you have hardly married into wealth and influence.”

           “Not so,” Dorian objected in a slightly slurry voice.   “There are your titles from Kirkwall.   What was it now?”

           “Comte Enavir Istimaethoriel Lavellan.”

           “That’s something of a mouthful.   What’s Isti.. Istim… whatever it is?”

           “My family name. Enavir is my personal name, Istimaethoriel my family name and Lavellan my clan name.”

           “Oh, so it isn’t a human title.   Didn’t realise the Dalish were into ostentatious names.”

           “You can talk.   What about all those titles they gave you at the Winter Palace?”

           “I don’t normally bother with them but I wasn’t going to be upstaged by a bunch of Orlesians.”

           “Good for you.”

           Enavir threw open one of his trunks and rummaged inside, searching for a particular set of items.

           “Speaking of the Winter Palace, I seem to recall you promised to demonstrate a certain shocking dance when the time was right.   Well?”

           “I have to have the right props, so to speak, ten silk scarves.”

           “Ta dah.” Enavir produced the scarves from the chest.

           “What now?”

           “Why not?” He grinned mischievously. “If you’re man enough that is?”

           “If I’m man enough?   Here, give me those scarves.”

           “Don’t you need to take your clothes off first?   Here let me help you.”

           They staggered about, giggling, inebriated as they were, gradually shedding each other’s clothes until both were naked.   Enavir started trying to wind the scarves around Dorian’s torso, somewhat clumsily due to having only one hand.  

           “No, that’s not how it’s done,” Dorian intervened and started to rearrange them.

           Enavir stood back while Dorian completed his envelopment with the scarves.

           “There, that’s better,” said Dorian.   “What about you though, you haven’t any scarves?”

           “I don’t need them.   Haven’t you always expressed a desire to see elves frolic naked in the moonlight.   Well here’s your chance.”

           Dorian gave an appreciative laugh.   “Oh you are wonderful.   Let’s dance.”

           He started to gyrate his hips in a seductive way that would do credit to any woman, let alone a man, holding his arms aloft and pouting suggestively at Enavir, who found himself being increasingly aroused by his actions.

           “Now you have to caress me, before undoing one of the scarves and letting it fall.” Dorian gestured expressively. “If your hands stray a little as you are doing this, that’s okay.   Just let go your inhibitions and do what comes naturally.”

           Enavir didn’t need to be told twice.   The wine and the mood of the evening meant he was totally relaxed, uninhibited and unashamed should anyone be witnessing their dance, although placed where they were that was unlikely.   He released the first scarf amid an entwining of limbs and lips, their bodies coming together briefly in sensuous unity, giving a tantalising promise of what was to follow.  

           With each successive scarf the erotic charge grew between them and he was aware from the tingling sensation in his body and the state of his manhood that the alcohol he had consumed had not dampened his libido.   As the last scarf fell, Dorian caught hold of it and used it to pull them together.   Then it was not possible to focus on anything except the passion between them.   They pulled each other down on to the carpet of scarves and made wild, intense love under a canopy of stars.


	2. Chapter 2

Enavir awoke in the first light of dawn. Somehow they had managed to transfer themselves inside the aravel and onto the bed after their first throws of passion, though Enavir found it hard to remember exactly when.   Now they lay with their limbs entwined, half covered with blankets. He watched the gentle rise and fall of Dorian’s chest as he continued to sleep and felt a surge of tenderness towards him.   It was something that he would never have thought possible: that he should love a Tevinter Magister or that his clan would accept his lover.   He smiled to himself at the irony; he had been sent to spy on humans and now a human was part of his clan.  

           In the peace of the early morning it was possible to hear the small sounds of nature; the wind in the rushes of the salt flats, the wash of the foam on the sea shore and the beginnings of the dawn chorus.   He tried to recognise the bird song and realised it was one he was unfamiliar with.  

           The clan had always previously lived inland in the foothills of the Vimmark Mountains or the remoter valleys containing tributaries to the Minnater River.   There the land had comprised rugged uplands, with stands of forest along the sides of the valleys and wind swept heathland at the summit. There the bird song had been that of thrushes and linnets, with the occasional cry of an eagle.

           The terrain they now occupied was flat or gently undulating, crisscrossed by an interconnecting mesh of streams and rivulets that formed the delta where the Minnater reached the sea.   There were no trees here, just tall grass, rushes and reeds.   He watched the small birds that flitted from one stem to another, twittering their enthusiastic greeting of a new day.   Others were wading in the shallows of the river that flowed near their encampment.   He consigned their appearance to memory and made a mental note to ask Josmael what they were called. Then it occurred to him that perhaps it did not matter if he could not identify the local wildlife.   He had returned to his clan but he doubted he would stay for long, not once Dorian had left for Tevinter.  

           A wave of sadness washed over him; he dreaded parting with Dorian.   Apart from a few months before the Exalted Council, they had been constant companions for nearly three years and lovers for almost as long. It was hard remembering what life had been like without him but he knew it had been lonely even when surrounded by his clan.   To return to such a state seemed unthinkable but he had to respect Dorian’s wishes on the matter; he wanted to try and achieve something on his own, at least at first. A small voice in his mind whispered that Dorian wanted to silence the whispers in his homeland about their relationship; that he was conforming to Tevinter social niceties out of political expediency, as he had always claimed he would not.   He suppressed the thought as unworthy of him.  

           They both had important work to do; Dorian in convincing his countrymen to embrace a new, less corrupt style of governance; Enavir in using the goodwill he still had accumulated from his time as Inquisitor, to encourage other city states to allow their elven citizens a better chance in life.   Neither would find the other helpful in this endeavour because of the inherent prejudice against them.

           Nor would Dorian be able to accompany him to the Arlathvhen in the spring, probably the most important and vital work he had to accomplish in trying to convince them not to heed the lies of Fen’Harel.   He doubted the other clans would be as opened minded about Dorian as his own.   In fact he anticipated they would be intensely hostile to the relationship and even violent towards them.   He would rather not place Dorian in such danger.

           He heard the voices of children approaching the aravel; then passing it by as they carried on to the riverbank to wash and play.   They were followed by their mothers to supervise their safety but there seemed no immediate threats and Enavir smiled at the peaceful scene.   There was a knock on the side of his aravel.

           “Are you awake, Ma Len?” It was his mother’s voice.

           “I am,” he called back; then saw Dorian begin to stir. “We are.”

           “I thought you might like to share breakfast with me by the river.”

           “Thank you, we’ll be right there.”

           Dorian gave a low moan.

           “My head,” he complained. “I think I overdid the wine.”

           Enavir chuckled. “Hangover?”

           “Why aren’t you suffering, you had as much as me?”

           “This is a sorry state of affairs, wishing suffering on your beloved.   For your information I didn’t have as much as you; you need to keep better track on your intake.”

           “Is this the sort of nagging lecture I’m to expect now we’re married?”

           “No, it’s just friendly advice.   Come let’s have breakfast.”

           They put on some light robes and joined the Keeper on the river bank.   As they approached she held out a small vial to Dorian.

           “For your head, I thought you might need it.   My herbal hangover remedies are proving immensely popular with locals and visitors alike.   I’m building quite a profitable business from my potions but this one’s on me.”

           “Thank you.” Dorian downed the contents.

           “You can freshen up in the river as well.   Don’t be shy; I’ve seen plenty of naked men in my time. We Dalish can’t afford to be prudish living in such close quarters with one another.”

           Enavir took the hint, shed his robe and plunged into the water, diving under the surface to completely immerse his whole body.   The water was chilly but invigorating and he came back to the surface thoroughly refreshed and beaming.

           “Come on, Dorian, what are you waiting for?”

           He started to flick water at him.   Dorian took the bait and plunged in.

           “Maker it’s cold!” He shrieked. “Congratulations on dampening my ardour.”

           “Just as well, then, with my mother watching.   I’ll leave you to your ablutions.”

           He returned to his mother, who had laid a blanket on the ground, and re-donned his robe, while Dorian stood up to his waist in the water, carefully rinsing his upper torso.

           “He’s a very comely fellow isn’t he, for a human?” commented his mother. “I think I can see the attraction, even though I favour the elven physique myself.

           “Mother!”

           “What?” She glanced at him with a teasing smile and a twinkle in her eye. “You think your old mother doesn’t still get such feelings from time to time?”

           “I’ve never really thought about it.” He could feel himself blushing. “Besides it is more than just a physical attraction.”

           “I’m sure it is but you have to admit that if it was merely spiritual then you wouldn’t have such a problem about taking a wife now would you?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

           He gave a resigned smile.   “You’ve got me there.   Are you really okay with us?”

           “Naturally I just want my son to be happy but I do fear for you, both of you.   Our clan was ready to be kindly disposed towards you; I’m not sure other Dalish will be the same and if he is as good of heart as you claim, then I think he will be going into the lion’s den when he returns to his country. Why wouldn’t he stay with you?   You said last night that he had left his family, never intending to return.”

            “We both care about our own people.   Dorian isn’t the only good Tevinter.   Besides we both have things we must do to try and counter the Dread Wolf.   As you admit, Dorian won’t be welcome at the Arlathvhen and I can’t help in the Magisterium.   We’ll be reunited eventually, there are just things we need to do first.   At least we will still be able to keep in touch.

           He gestured to the crystal that he kept permanently hanging around his neck.

           “If it is a mutual decision, then I am content.” She stared at the crystal. “What sort of device is that?”

           “A sending crystal; it allows people to communicate over long distances. Dorian gave it to me so we can still talk even when apart.”

           Dorian returned to them from the river, shivering slightly.   He quickly donned his robe and sat down.

           “The baths in Minrathous are a lot warmer. Look at me, I’ve got goose bumps.”

           “Moan, moan, is this what I’ve got to expect now we’re married?”

           “I suppose I asked for that.” He looked to the Keeper. “Thanks for the hangover cure by the way. It really works fast.”

           “I’ll let you have a crate load if you wish when you return home.”

           “A crate load. What has he been saying about me?”

           “Merely observation,” She smiled knowingly.

           “Then I appreciate your concern….. Mother is it?”

           “Call me Deshanna. I’m sure you have your own mother.”

           “I do indeed, though not so worthy of the name as you.”

           “Flatterer,” she grinned at him. “Still, since you have raised the subject, how about you tell me something of your family as we eat? Enavir had been rather sparse on the details up until last night. If it is not too painful for you, that is.”

           “It is something that I must live with,” Dorian sighed, “Very well, a brief history of House Pavus.   My family seat is in Qarinus, although we also have holdings in Vyrantium, Carastes and, of course, Minrathous.   As with all Altus, we claim lineage from the first Dreamers who founded Tevinter as a nation and then later forged the Imperium. Our fortunes have varied down the years, according to how successfully our political alliances worked out.   Suffice to say that currently House Pavus is in something of a flux. My father married well into a very ancient and powerful line, that of Thalrassian, and thus cemented the influence of House Pavus both in the eastern Imperium and Minrathous.”

           “So my son has made something of a political match after all?” Deshanna gave a teasing grin.

          “Sadly, no, and that is largely thanks to me. For a long time my father was on the Consiliare to the Archon, a very influential body, but he was forced to resign thanks to the scandal of my proclivities and his botched attempts at covering them up.   My father also intended altering my mind with blood magic in order to get me to conform to his plans for me.   After I discovered about the blood magic ritual, I confronted him with it and stormed out.   I thought he had disowned me. Instead he came searching for me in the south and Enavir persuaded me to attempt some sort of reconciliation. He had some very strong feelings about family that I did not share, although I can see why he felt that way now.”

           He smiled in turn at them both.

           “My father did apologise after a fashion for what he had tried to do but I still wasn’t sure that I could forgive him.”

           “That is understandable,” nodded Deshanna.

           “Still we were at least talking again and stayed in touch by letter, even if there wasn’t much warmth between us.   Around six months ago I returned home briefly.   Things were pretty much as they had always been.   My mother was drowning her sorrows in wine, deadening her ability to feel the despair at a loveless marriage, and my father was civil but little else.   There would have been little there to draw me back but I had friends who were more enthusiastic about seeing me and outlined plans they had for a new political movement aimed at stamping our corruption in the Magisterium.   Even that might not have been sufficient to prompt my return but then, having been appointed Ambassador to the Exalted Council on behalf of Tevinter, largely thanks to my father’s efforts, I received word he had been assassinated.   It turned out that he had not disowned me after all and I inherited his wealth and his seat in the Magisterium.   That gave me the political power to encourage real change but I also wanted to return to avenge his death. It turns out I am a better son than I thought I was.”

           “One must always be careful that vengeance does not come to define you but it is something that a Dalish can respect, as I’m sure Enavir has told you.   I can see now why you need to return to Tevinter and I respect your decision, as my son does.   I wish you well in your endeavours.”

           “Thank you.”

           “Well, I’ve burdened you with my company long enough.   You are on honeymoon after all.   Which reminds me,” she handed them a bottle. “Mead; it is a sort of honey wine and very popular with newly-weds or so I’m told.     This is my own special brew and another successful venture on my part.   Enjoy the rest of your day.”

           It was a welcome relief, if only briefly, to lay down the burdens of leadership and simply enjoy being alive.   Enavir, in particular, had hardly had a respite in the preceding four years from the role of Herald of Andraste and then Inquisitor.   When he hadn’t been fighting for his life, there had been the constant demands of the role with regard to decisions on how to deploy troops and diplomatic meetings.   As for the paperwork, he thought he would never see an end to it.   He resented the political pressure that had forced him to disband his organisation but he wasn’t sorry to be relieved of the more tedious aspects of his role.   In any case, he acknowledged it had never really been _his_ organisation.   It had been set up under someone else’s charter and bound by their ideas of what it should be.   He was now free to use whatever status he had acquired through his previous role to purse his own aims and agenda.   He had vowed he would make a difference and improve the lives of elves in Thedas, both Dalish and non-Dalish.

           For the next few days, though, he put such thoughts from his mind and savoured the time he had left with Dorian.   They attended a banquet held in his honour by the city council but the rest of the time they could wander the city largely unacknowledged as anything other than revellers along with the rest.   They watched puppet shows and pantomime, enjoyed the dancing, parades and carnival floats, sampled the various dishes and other refreshments on offer, drank the wine and relaxed in peaceful bliss by the river.  

           All too soon their idyll came to an end and Dorian prepared to depart on the next stage of his journey back to Tevinter.   He was to take ship as far as Antiva City and then join a merchant caravan for the final stage across land to Qarinus.   At the end of their final night together, they agreed to watch the sun rise over the sea together from the bed they had made for themselves on the riverbank.

Enavir relaxed against Dorian, savouring the warmth of his body, while his companion gently stroked his maimed arm, running his hand down over the stump.   It was a gesture of affection. In the aftermath of its loss, Enavir had questioned if Dorian could love someone less than perfect.   Dorian had simply taken the arm and kissed it and ever since had made a point of caressing it to assure him of his love.   Enavir gave a deep sigh of contentment as he looked up and counted the stars in the indigo sky.

          “I love this world.”

          “Anything about it in particular?”

          "Fishing for compliments?” He glanced at Dorian with a teasing smile, before continuing. “I know you love the hustle and bustle of civilisation, the cities and the social life. Watching you these last few days has made me realise how dull Skyhold must have been for you.”

          “I did say as much you will recall.”

          “You called _me_ dull.”

          “Ah, but you know I was just teasing.   Do, please, go on.”

          “May be what you say is true.   The cities and the nightlife are all very well but _this_ is what I really missed, the peace and the stillness of nature.”

          “Is that why you used to get up in the middle of the night in Skyhold and stand there on the balcony for no particular reason?”

          “You noticed then?   Why didn’t you join me?”

          “Because much of the time it was freezing; it was the small hours of the night and I didn’t fancy standing there stark naked like you.”

          “I was waiting for the dawn to break.”

          Dorian gave a pretend sigh of exasperation. “As I’ve always said, you are a rank sentimentalist.”

          “I prefer to think of myself as a romantic.”

          “Hmm, is that meant to be a hint?”

          “Not really,” he shrugged. “I was just thinking that cities were probably much the same back then in Elvhenan. There would have been a different style of construction to the buildings and they were built with magic…”

          “So are many Tevinter cities.”

          “Really, I didn’t know that. Anyway, people were probably much the same too, the same old mix of scandal and intrigue among the nobility and just aiming to get by with simple pleasures among the poor.   So if Solas could make a spell to put everyone in a bubble of magic while he changed the world, people could probably go on much as before. This though,” he gestured to the panorama before him,” this would all be gone.   I would miss the beauty of this world just as much as he misses his magical prismatic towers and crystal walkways.”

           “I’d never really thought about it like that up to now but you’re right, I might complain about the hardships of managing in the wild but I would miss the beauty of nature.”

           “My people have a legend of the Creators. When the world was new there was only the sun and the land. The sun bowed his head to the earth and Elgar’nan was born in the place where they touched.     As a gift to Elgar’nan the earth brought forth all manner of wondrous green things, great birds and beasts of sky and forest.   Then the sun was jealous of Elgar’nan’s love for these things, so he burnt them to ashes.   Elgar’nan was so furious that he threw down the sun and buried him in the Abyss.”

           “Gods do seem to have this propensity for burying things they don’t like”, said Dorian lightly.

           “Do you want me to finish the story?”

           “Of course, I didn’t realise there was more.”

           “The earth wept tears of pain and loss for the creatures that had been destroyed and these formed the rivers, streams and oceans. Mythal was born of the sea.   When she saw what Elgar’nan had done, she soothed his anger.   She persuaded him to release his father the sun, and together with the earth, they all remade the world that had been lost.”

           “That is a much more positive story than my own religion I must say.  How can such a story of reconciliation and forgiveness have come from the world that Solas depicted?”

           “I don’t know. May be it is just a fanciful tale made up by the Keepers to fill in the gaps in our knowledge, particularly about the creation of the world.”

           “Well I have to admit it beats our one.   Our Maker made the world of the spirits, got fed up because they didn’t do anything but praise him, created our world, made men to be creative and industrious, then got upset with us because we forgot him.”

           “He is a hard person to please,” agreed Enavir with sarcasm.   “Do you still believe in the Maker after all we’ve been through?”

           “I don’t know.   Official teaching is that he doesn’t intervene, so it isn’t really faith destroying to discover you weren’t the Herald.”

           “You never really believed that in the first place. What about the nature of the early world and the fact that he didn’t create the Veil?”

           “You know I’m not terribly good on the religious dogma.   I can’t recall exactly _what_ our Chantry says on the matter.   There has to be a creator though. Even your legends say as much.   If the earth and sun were already there, then who made them?”

           “I suppose you’re right”.   He stared up at the stars again.   “Our legends also say that the stars are made up of the lifeblood of the sun that was spilled in his fight with Elgar’nan.   They are a reminder to me that this world is worth fighting for.”

            For a time they just stayed quietly staring up into the night sky, until the light started to spread from the horizon. Dorian hugged him closer and whispered in his ear.    

            “Any regrets?”

            “Just one; that I didn’t trust you sooner.”

            “You’re forgiven.” Dorian laughed. “I resented your mistrust at first but I allow it was understandable, given the history between my countrymen and your own.”

            “I was prejudiced and allowed it to cloud my judgement of you, whilst I trusted Solas simply because he was an elf, which was foolish of me.   I won’t make that mistake again.”

            “Glad to hear it.”       

            “You should be careful whom you trust too.”

            “As someone who grew up in Tevinter, I hardly need you to remind me of that.”

            “I meant your servants.   Though it pains me to say it, they could be a worse threat than any Magister.”

            “And yet you insist on my freeing them all.”  Dorian sounded exasperated but Enavir knew he was just teasing.

           “It would be hard defending our relationship to the Arlathvhen in good conscience if I knew you still kept slaves. It may not amount to much when weighed against all their other prejudice but sometimes the smallest thing can make the difference.”

           “I thought that since your clan had accepted you, it might not be such a problem.”

            “They could just as easily reject my whole clan for what they have done here.   It depends on the mood in the clans at present and I have no idea how the agents of Solas might influence things.   However, the views of my clan won’t really change the general attitude towards me.   I took you as my lover in defiance of everything we have always believed about humans and Tevinter in particular.   You don’t know my people as I do.   Pariah doesn’t even come close to how they might view me.”

            Dorian shifted round, raised himself up on his elbow and stared at Enavir with concern.

            “You never said. I had no idea.”

            “You could have asked.   Why do you think I respected you as I did?   Why did you think I understood so well what you had to endure in following your own path?   I accepted the implications for me when we began the relationship and to be honest, so long as we were together in the Inquisition, it didn’t seem important if the clans didn’t approve. Then came those revelations from Solas and I knew I would have to face them eventually.   I have to try and get them to see the truth. However, I meant every word I said when I thought I was going to die.   I regret nothing.   I would not change a single thing of the time we have had together and my heart is yours.   I love you Dorian, now and forever, and the censure of the clans is not going to change that.   Nevertheless, I am also a realist and my success as a hunter and protector has been in anticipating problems before they arise.   Then you come at the challenge prepared for what may occur.   I shall confront their condemnation at the Arlathvhen.”

            Dorian gave a deep sigh.   “So I’ll not be the only one risking my neck to challenge tradition.”

            “Absolutely.” Enavir gave a mischievous grin.   “Of course, it wouldn’t harm my cause if I could tell them my love _had_ freed all his slaves.”

            Dorian laughed. “You just won’t let that one go, will you?”

            “Well, I couldn’t have you thinking you’re perfect now, could I?”

            “Slander!   I will not have it said that I am anything less than the perfect lover.”

            Enavir gave a lewd grin.   “Prove it.”

            Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Again?”

            “Again.”

            Dorian gave one of his sensual, approving laughs and they fell into a passionate embrace one final time, just as the sun rose above the sea and bathed them in its light.

*****

            At last the moment came that Enavir had been dreading, having to part with Dorian.   They stood on the dockside whilst Dorian’s luggage was loaded aboard the ship.   Enavir handed him a potion to help with seasickness that Deshanna had concocted especially for him.   Dorian expressed his thanks and then handed Enavir a small package.

            “Open it when I’ve gone, Amatus.”

            There was one final long drawn out kiss and embrace and then Dorian was walking up the gangplank to stand on deck as the ropes were loosed and the ship started to manoeuvre out of the harbour.

            As the ship reached open sea, there was one last look back and wave from Dorian, plus a gesture to his chest, reminding Enavir of the sending crystal they both wore and which they would use to communicate.   It wasn’t the same as the feel of him in his arms or seeing him swagger around the room but it was something; a way of communicating in a very personal way and reducing the sense of loss. Then he was gone.

            Enavir opened the package to find a small book with the title: Carmenum di Amatus. Curious, he opened it to find it was a book of poetry with a notation from Dorian on the inner cover:

 “ _I know I mock you for your sentimentality but the truth is I still find it difficult to accept that I truly have your love, or deserve it.   So I cover my awkwardness with sarcasm. I guess you know that already, right?   I gather this book is banned by your southern Chantry, with good reason I should imagine, as you will discover on reading them.   Still, think on me as you do and know my heart is always yours_.”  

A silken bookmark indicated one particular page.   Turning to it he read:

_His lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer,_

_Which travel down my spine like flames that shatter night._

_His eyes reflect the heaven’s stars, the Maker’s light,_

_My body opens, filled and blessed, my spirit there,_

_Not merely housed in flesh, but brought to life_.

Enavir remained standing on the dockside for several minutes, the tears streaming down his face.


	3. Chapter 3

            As Enavir walked back through the city, there came a whoop and an arm around his shoulders.   It was Josmael, on foot but leading a horse.

            “Hi, there,” he said cheerily. “He’s gone then?”

            Enavir nodded, still feeling a little subdued at the parting.

            “It can’t be easy, I realise.   I’d hate to be parted from Atisha for weeks on end.”

            “Did you really hold back from marrying her on account of me?”

            “Of course.”

            “But the tears?”

            “Could just have been a temporary setback.   The First of the clan sometimes does want to delay getting married so they can concentrate on their magical studies.   So it seemed as though this is what happened with you.   You took the tears so the other girls didn’t hold out any hopes.   Then when Atisha was ready, you’d take the full vallaslin of Mythal, but because you had the tears, none of us thought we should ask about it, out of respect for your feelings.”

            “I’m so sorry I misled you like that.”

            “Think nothing of it.   Between you and me, I think if Atisha had wanted to get married right away, she’d have told me.   If anything she was using _you_ as an excuse. Anyway that’s all in the past now. Everything worked out for the best in the end.   Atisha was able to focus on her studies, without any distractions from me and you were left untroubled by female admirers until you found your ma sa’lath.   It’s all good.”

            “You’re a good friend, Joss.”

            “You’re not so bad yourself.   I’m glad you’re back with us again.”

            “I can’t promise how long for.”

            “You don’t want to get too comfortable in this little haven.   I can understand that. There’s things need doing. Atisha has dropped a few hints from what she’s been able to gain from reading your letters. Just remember, you don’t have to do it all alone this time. We’re here for you.”

            “Thanks, Joss, it means a lot to hear you say that.”

            “Good.” Josmael grinned at him. “Well, I must be off; I’ve work to do checking the herds out on the marshes.   I’d ask you to join me but I was actually sent with a message from Deshanna, asking you to join her at her aravel.   I guess there are things she wants to discuss.”

            He vaulted on to the horse and rode away at a swift canter.

            Envair found his mother making up potions.   A number of crates were stacked at the side of the aravel, already full with bottles and vials.   As he approached she looked up and smiled warmly.   It struck him how much greyer her hair had become in his absence and her face had aged as well but she actually looked more relaxed than she had out in the wilds.   She dropped her last bottle into the crate and gestured to the bench alongside the aravel.

            “I thought perhaps we should catch up on any new developments since you last wrote to me and run over some old ones.”

            “That’s fine by me.   I could do with your wisdom.   At times I don’t know what to make of everything I’ve learnt.”

            “You’ve done well, ma len. I never dreamt you would make such discoveries when I asked you to go to the Conclave.”

            “I seem to recall that I rather insisted you let me go.” He gestured to his wounded arm. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.”

            “Does it hurt you?”

            “Physically sometimes it still troubles me.   Mentally I’m still coming to terms with the loss.   Dorian helped me a lot.”

            “You love him very much, don’t you?”

            He nodded and smiled. “He saved me, mother, at the Well of Sorrows. I was so close to drinking; all that knowledge that could have been mine and I so desperately didn’t want to disappoint you, even if it meant being bound to Mythal.”

            “No knowledge was worth your freedom, son.”

            “It’s reassuring to hear you say that.   Even though my instincts were warning against it, temptation was very great. Then Dorian said the words; ‘I would not lose you to the Well’ and I couldn’t do that to him.”

            “Then I shall be forever grateful to him for saying those words.   Now are you sure that Asha’Bellanar is Mythal?”

            “Why would she have answered the call at her shrine if she were not?   She is Asha’Bellanar and Mythal, the two combined in one person.”

            “Yet not an abomination?”

            “Is that not a human term?   She was certainly not possessed as we think of it.   Varric, the Viscount of Kirkwall, told me that when he met her some years ago she was able to transform into a dragon. That is also something at least some of the Evanuris were able to do.   Mythal certainly could.”

            “Varric, yes, he has been of much assistance in supporting our set up here.   Kirkwall is an influential city in the Freemarches, so his word carries weight among the humans.”

            “Our dwarven ally; you know he has contacts everywhere don’t you?”

            “I do now,” she nodded and looked thoughtful. “So he saw her transform.   That is interesting.   Apparently the Chasind in Ferelden depict her as a dragon in their pictures of her. I have never had cause to call upon her myself; our clan travelling in the Freemarches ensured that.   Other Keepers have though and say you do not request her help lightly.   They warn that she is just as likely to kill you as aid you.”

            “That’s what it said about Mythal in her Temple.   You have to go to her with a pure heart. If your reasons for requesting justice are selfish or petty, then she will punish you.   However, if your cause is just then she will hunt your enemies to the ends of the earth.”

            “And she approved of you I recall.”

            “She said that I did the People proud.”

            “That is good.   Did she acknowledge the Dread Wolf?   Was he was with you?”

            “Close at hand but it is possible she did not see him.”

            “And you have no idea where she is now?”

            “None; I should think her daughter has a better idea of that, particularly as she drank from the Well, but she departed soon after the battle with Corypheus.”

            “So for now we cannot look to her for advice or assistance. Very well, is there anything else I should know?”

            “There were reports coming in, even before I left Skyhold, of elven servants disappearing from their posts and many of our workers too.   The latter is understandable as they may have heard I was going to disband and already had other jobs to go to but the other ones are disturbing.   Have any elves gone missing here?”

            “Not that I am aware. The alienage walls have already come down here and elven movements are no longer restricted between here and Ansburg, so there is a fair bit of traffic between the two. I don’t recall anyone saying that there have been any unexpected absences.   I’ll check with my colleagues on the Council.” She looked at him penetratingly.   “There _is_ something troubling you, isn’t there?”

            He gave a deep sigh and ran his hand through his hair.

            “I think I’m having what is called a crisis of faith. I don’t know what to believe any more. Mythal is real but she clearly could not or would not do more than she has down the years. Abelas, one of her priests, refused to acknowledge me as one of the People. Fen’Harel is real but he claims our gods were really tyrant mages and deserved to be locked away.   To make matters worse, he is planning on destroying our world and us with it.   I just don’t know who I should place my trust in anymore.”

            “What does your Dorian say?”

            “He believes in the Maker but only because the alternative is too scary to contemplate; that there is no one watching over you.   He does not believe in his Chantry any more than I do the one in the south.   I think many people here only believe in the Maker like he does. They don’t seem to follow any of the moral codes in the Chant and in fact many people seem to outright ignore them.   If they truly believed in the Maker, why would they do that?   Yet, how can anyone be sure that the Chant they circulate was in fact the words of Andraste herself and not simply Drakon’s version of it? Was anything they claim about Andraste true?   For goodness sake, they called me the Herald of Andraste, even after we had discovered the truth, and told me to lie about it.”

             She took his hand in hers and squeezed it.

             “Now listen to me son,” she said sternly. “Don’t let those shemlen destroy your faith. Instead of thinking what you can’t believe in, focus on the things you can.   You have been shown our gods were real.   They have mocked us and reviled us in the past for clinging to these beliefs.   Our traditions are based on leaders of the people guiding us and teaching us as the Keepers do today.   From what the Dread Wolf said, that is how they began, just not how they ended.   Our legends say that at the time he imprisoned them they were fighting in a war with the Forgotten Ones.   War can make you do terrible things.”

             “What about the accusation of slavery?”

             “This servant of Mythal, Abelas did you say his name was?”

             “That is correct.”

             “So did he seem like slave to you?   Was he bound there against his will?”

             “Well he did talk of being bound to her will but then he simply left the Temple.”

             “Just as it would have been your choice to be bound to her if you drank from the Well. So it is possible that what we think of slavery and what Fen’Harel thinks of as slavery are two different things.   The Circle mages, many of them would likely describe themselves as slaves because they hated the restrictions placed on them, yet you tell me other mages supported the system and wished it to return.   It is very often all a matter of perspective.   These images you had in your mind in the Vir Dirthara, were these people in chains?”

             “No but not every slave in Tevinter wears chains.”

             “Were they happy at their release?”

             “They were terrified; their world was collapsing around them. They just wanted their gods to come back and save them. Those that knew he was responsible hated him.”

             “So I would say that we should give our gods the benefit of the doubt.”

             “They did warn against the poisonous words of Fen’Harel, how they seem fair at first but you should not trust him.”

             “You see.   Now we have some good customs that we believe were taught us by our gods.   We believe in solidarity with one another, in the value of family. Our gods taught us the skills that kept us alive all these years.   We have fought and struggled and suffered to retain them against the world.   Don’t let him take them from you.   He wants us to think him justified in what he did to them instead of the trickster we thought him to be.   Has anything in your dealings with him shown him to be anything else? He betrayed your friendship and your trust, he was always playing a part and he seems intent on causing more misery and death.   If nothing else, we know our gods are real and they cannot answer us anymore, unlike the humans’ Maker whom they claim _will_ not answer their prayers.”

             “And yet they still pray to him; still have a hope that he will intervene.”

             “That is their problem, not ours.”

             “Ameridan honoured both the Maker and Ghilan’nain.”

             “And was friend of an Emperor who destroyed everyone’s religion that did not agree with his own and, so you tell me, even others who believed in the Maker as he did.   Still, if that is what you wish to do, to honour the god of your love, as well as your own, then do so. It is whispered among the clans, just whispered mind you, that Shartan did the same.   He was brother in arms to Andraste but never a devout disciple of the Maker; he just honoured him along with the Creators.   You see there has always been some argument over whether Elgar’nan and Mythal actually created the whole world or whether they were born of it, as our lore suggests.   If they didn’t create the world, someone else did.”

             “And what should I tell the Arlathvhen?”

             “Tell them the truth. They may not like hearing it but it is up to them what they want to do with it.”

             “I feel like a little boy at his lessons again, but thank you for the reassurance.”

             Deshanna laughed.

             “Thank you for letting your old mother feel that she still has your respect.   You know, I feared that all those titles, praise and adulation might go to your head and I would lose my son.   It is reassuring to know I didn’t.”

             “All that reverence meant nothing to me because I knew it wouldn’t last.   Every time we try to rise up, they knock us down again.”

             “But we persevere.   You helped me start something here that is good and is working.   We have status and a small place we can call home. There is hope in that.   You hinted in your letters that you don’t want to give up on your hopes for our people.”

             “I don’t; I just didn’t see a future in Orlais as the Divine’s puppet.”

             “Quite right; so give more elves hope and use what we have done here as a model. It’s like dropping a pebble in a pond; watch the ripples grow.”

             “You mean that? You won’t be upset if I leave again?”

             She chuckled and shook her head. “You were never meant for a quiet life.   You have my blessing. Live up to your name, Enavir, Pathfinder.”

             He found Atisha waiting for him at his aravel with two horses.  

             “Joss asked me to wait until you had finished with Deshanna and then take you out to join him. He wants you to see the horses he has gathered.”

             She led him inland, following the line of the main river channel to the north of the city until it meandered southwards across their path.   Without hesitation she urged the horse forwards until it was wading up to its belly.   Enavir was impressed at her confidence in the saddle.

             “How long have you been riding the horses?”

             “Almost from the first time we acquired them.   You seemed so enthusiastic about the idea and so insistent we should learn that all the hunters took lessons.   Some found it easier than others, so Joss has taken that group and worked on their skills beyond just the basic ones needed to stay in the saddle.   I _wanted_ to learn. Whatever you have planned, I want to be a part of it.”

             “I thought there might have been more objections to using shemlen mounts.”

             “The elders muttered a bit but anyone can see our modern halla aren’t suitable as mounts. May be they were back at the time of the Dales but they have got smaller and slower over the years, probably because of the harshness of the life we had to lead and they are only used for pulling not riding.   Now that they have got better food and a milder climate, may be our halla will grow strong again and running free over a vast range will build up muscles for strength in the back, speed and endurance.   We’ve noticed the fawns born since we settled here seem larger and stronger than previously.   They run with the horses and the two groups seem happy with one another.”

             The ground was becoming drier underfoot and the hooves of their horses squelched less and drummed more.   They emerged from a thicket of taller marsh grasses onto a broad plain of normal grass pasture.   Enavir could see a large herd of multi coloured horses and slightly smaller group of snowy white halla.   Watching over them, spaced at regular intervals, were ten elven riders. When the nearest to them, spied the newcomers, he gave a yell and they all rode to greet them at a gallop, Josmael in the lead.   Enavir and Atisha drew their mounts to a halt and waited as the rest circled them, giving wild cries of enthusiasm, before easing down and asking their horses to halt facing inwards.

             “Glad you could make it,” said Josmael, with one of his signature beaming smiles. “Now just watch what we can do.”

             He whistled and the riders wheeled their horses around, before tearing off in different directions.   They crisscrossed the area in front of the spectators, swerving at the last minute to avoid one another or turning their horse on the spot to change direction.

             Josmael took his horse some distance away before turning it back and galloping it towards them in a straight line.   He loosed the reins onto its neck, leaving the horse running free of restraint, while he started to rotate in the saddle until he was sitting staring backwards.   Another rotation and he was facing front again.   Suddenly he tipped over to one side and went straight under the horse’s belly before re-appearing the other side and deftly returning to the saddles.   All the time the other riders whooped and yelled their encouragement.

             A second rider, that Enavir recognise as another of his old friends, a dark haired elf called Enansal, sent his horse away from them diagonally at a gallop.   He swivelled right under his horse’s neck; then flipped backwards in the saddle as though wounded, before whipping back into an upright position.     While he was doing this the others rode to where they had hung bows on a tree, grabbed them and cantered back past a series of targets they had erected, firing off arrows as they went. Finally they formed up in single file again, circled Enavir and then, when back in front of him, did one final flourish of spinning their horses on the spot in unison before halting and raising their hands in salute.

            “So,” yelled Josmael, breathless but beaming. “What do you think?”

            The performance had left Enavir almost speechless in admiration but he did his best to put this into words.

            “That’s…..amazing.”

            Josmael gave him an admonishing look. “Is that the best you can do?”

            “I’m sorry; you just took my breath away.   Where did you learn how to do all that?”

            “Trial and error, eh lads?” The others laughed.

            “You wouldn’t believe the number of times I ended up spitting dirt”, said Enansal.

            “Or flat on my arse,” agreed Josmael.

            “He knocked himself out on one occasion,” said Atisha.   “Not to mention the bruises that they came to me for attention to.   They didn’t want the Keeper to know in case she ordered them to stop.     So I had the pleasure of patching them up.”

            “You’re a great girl,” winked Josmael.

            “And the bows, they look different from normal?”

            “We asked Master Valoren if he could make the necessary adjustments.   We figured it must be possible because of our legends of halla riders.   They’re not as powerful as a long bow but you can shoot accurately enough.   We felt they would be good for surprise attacks where you would speed in close enough in range to compensate for the lack of power and then out again before they could recover enough to return fire.”

            “Impressive,” Enavir nodded his approval. “You’ve done well.”

            “We thought we could be the new Emerald Knights, defending the Freemarches from danger,” said Enansal.

            “You may be getting a bit ahead of yourselves there. Not everyone is going to be as accepting of us as Wycome has been.”

            "You’re planning something though, aren’t you?” Josmael grinned.

            “I hope to capitalise on the good will I gained as Inquisitor before it evaporates.   Until I see how the land lies, it would probably be best not to use the title Emerald Knights, in case some humans have long memories.”

            “You think they might remember the Dales?”

            “The Chantry went to great lengths to blacken our name.   Look how they were up in arms when they thought you’d usurped the rightful ruler here.”

            “More than usurped,” Josmael said with a wicked grin. “We did for the evil bastard.”

            “Exactly,” nodded Enavir. “I thought when I authorised Dalish assassins that I could count on you.   Still, until I’ve had a chance to smooth the way, call yourselves Fade Hunters.   Those were the Emerald Knights charged with protecting from demons and the like but people won’t have heard of them outside of the Dalish.   No one can object if your intention is to hunt demons.”

            “That’s true,” said Enansal. “They also hunted maleficarum as well.   With the Circles gone in this part of the world and the Templars too, we can fill the gap.”

            “Glad to see my old team is still ready and eager to make a difference.”

            “Just lead the way,” said Josmael, “we’re with you, isn’t that so lads?”

            The others raised their voices in a cheer of approval.   He walked his horse forward and appraised their mounts.   They were smaller and lighter of build than the average war horse in Orlais but well up to carrying the elves and seemingly well balanced and nimble.

            “So these are the horses you bought, not bad.”

            “We did as you suggested,” explained Enansal.   “We asked around among the city elves and sure enough some of them worked as stable hands.   They had picked up a lot of knowledge over the years, sometimes even being entrusted with purchasing mounts on behalf of their employers but, even when not, they still tended to be on hand when deals were struck.   So they were able to advise us on the right price to pay and where to go for the best horses.   It certainly paid off that we needed them for ourselves.   Most of these destriers were considered rejects because they aren’t big enough for human knights but they’ve still got the best breeding, so we got excellent horses at a knock down price. For future reference, the main horse market for the Dales is in Ansburg.”

             Enavir glanced across at the horses mingling with the halla.

             “So how many have you purchased so far?”

             “Fifty two mares for breeding stock, with many of them already in foal.   They are due to foal down this spring. In additional we’ve forty riding animals that we have been training.  Half of them are pure destriers, Taslin mostly, and the rest are dual purpose so they can pull aravels as well as being ridden. Some of the city boys have been training with us as well, and offered some useful advice about methods, so we can field twenty five riders altogether, who can do our sort of tricks, and a further fifteen Dalish who can ride well enough they can swing a sword from the saddle, even if they can’t do our acrobatics. We save the destriers for our best riders and give the dual purpose ones to the sword wielders as they are more steady and placid in nature.”

             “For the record, none of the horses like magic being performed from the saddle,” said Atisha.   “I found that out the hard way.”

             The others laughed at the memory and Josmael explained.

             “Her mount took off like greased lightning and didn’t stop until it reached the sea.   Tish was as white as a sheet when we caught up with her.”

             “Still I’ve discovered that my staff makes a very good substitute lance for driving into people, so I can still be of use in the saddle but I just have to jump off when I do spells.”

             “A good basis for a mercenary band,” reflected Enavir.   We’ll need them to stay here though, until I can find a more central base.   Kirkwall is no place for horses to thrive.   In any case, I’ve got my stallions being brought in to be kept there temporarily, so it would complicate issues have mares around the place.   They don’t feel the need to be in competition with one another if there are no mares in the vicinity, so they get along with each other just fine.”

             “Yes, there’s nothing like a group of females to upset the male camaraderie,” Josmael smirked.

             “Hmm, maybe it’s the men who are the ones at fault,” suggested Atisha. “They’re all preening show offs the lot of them.”

             “See what I have to put up with from my wife,” winked Josmael. “You’re just jealous you can’t do what we can.”

             “I’ve had better things to do with my time,” she responded dryly, “like mixing up salves to put on your bruises.”

             “Well it seems to me that everyone’s time has been well spent,” Enavir interceded tactfully.   “I’m only jealous I can’t match you.”

             “I’m sure it won’t take you long to catch us up.   Your horse is trained to respond to leg signals only, so you can go hands free.”

             “Hand free,” reflected Enavir.

             “Shucks Enny, I didn’t mean anything…..”

             “It’s okay Joss.   It’s something I’m getting used to.   I’ll just have to be one of those steady sword wielders.”   He smiled at them all again.   “You’ve done _really_ well lads. I’m proud of all you’ve achieved here.   Now I’ll have to come up with a way we can put it to good use without the Shems going up in arms about it.   I’ll see you back at camp.”

             He wheeled his horse around and trotted back the way they had come.   He smiled to himself as he heard Atisha admonishing her husband.

             “You know you can be a really insensitive idiot at times, Joss.”

             Shortly after she urged her horse to catch him up and glanced across with a concerned look on her face.

             “Are you really okay?”

             “I count my blessings.   It could be worse.   I’m alive and only lost my left arm.   It’s only the lower arm as well, so in time you never know, maybe I will be able to fling myself around the horse like they do.”

             “It can’t be easy though, so just remember, we’re here for you, particularly now you don’t have Dorian”.

             “Thank you, Tish.   Mind you, I do have Dorian in a way. He gestured to his crystal.”

             “Deshanna mentioned that to me.   She said he gave you a sending crystal?”

             “That’s right.”

             “So how does it work?”

             “Magic!” he grinned.

             “Oh, I see, it’s a secret is it?”

             “I have to speak a password to activate it; that way if someone else gets hold of it they can’t trick Dorian into thinking he’s talking to me.”

             “Yes, I can see how that might be embarrassing.”

             “I was thinking more along the lines of revealing secrets.”

             “So was I,” she smirked, “Intimate ones.”

             As they continued their way back towards camp he reflected on the loss of his arm.   It was strange but at times he thought it was still there and could even feel his fingers clenching from the pain he had felt near the end.   Some of the veteran soldiers had told him that was normal and had recounted stories of others who had felt the same.   He wondered if they ever fully adjusted.  

             “The worst part is not being able to use my bow,” he mused out loud.

             “What’s that?” Atisha responded.

             “Sorry I was thinking aloud.”

             “I suppose it would be hard.   You were always the best.   I can’t ever remember you missing a shot.”

             “Oh I missed a few in my time.   It was an extension of my arm, though, in a way. Using it became so natural in the end; I hardly had to think about it.   So when I couldn’t use my bow that was like losing part of me as well.”

             “Yes, I can appreciate that.   It’s funny, though, I thought losing the anchor would be worse, seeing as how unique that made you.   I’ll admit to being a little disappointed not to have seen you use it.”

             “I think I miss it less because it wasn’t part of my natural ability.   I’m not saying it wasn’t a wrench but maybe it was just as well. I was beginning to enjoy it too much.”

             “How so?”

             He reflected for a few moments on just how exhilarating it had felt when the anchor flared into life and thought how he could adequately put it into words.

             “You know how frustrated I was that I didn’t have the gift of magic.   How I envied those that did.   I prayed and prayed to Mythal, asking for the power.   Pretty silly really; I knew the gods couldn’t answer our prayers.   It was years, though, since I had really thought about it but that longing returned when I first got to the Conclave and was surrounded by all those magic users.   Then I was knocked out and when I woke up, I had a piece of magic literally in my hand.   They kept asking me if the woman in the Fade behind me had been Andraste and calling me her Herald.   They thought it was a sign that the Maker was returning at the end of the world but instead I thought it a sign _our_ gods were returning, that it was Mythal who had given it to me.”

             He lifted his left arm and stared as though expecting his hand to still be there.

             “Then when _he_ revealed it really was a bit of ancient elven magic; that seemed to confirm my belief.   Corypheus had called me a thief but if he had had the anchor first, then he was the thief and I was the rightful owner.   Even when we learned the truth about the woman in the Fade, it didn’t matter to me because it still _belonged_ to my people.   I revelled in the power that flowed from it and the things I could make it do.   It was more than just closing rifts; I could destroy demons with it or create an impenetrable barrier to deflect the arrows of my enemies. Towards the end it could even protect my companions or kill my enemies with just a thought from me. It was a godlike power.”

             He glanced across to see Atisha’s reaction and she stared back open mouthed.

             “Goodness, I had no idea it was that powerful.”

             “It was the property of Fen’Harel was it not?”   He lowered his arm again.

             “And he took it back?”

             “Not exactly or we wouldn’t be having this cosy conversation.   The world would already be burning.   He saved my life by destroying it and my arm along with it.   I wonder, though, if he didn’t also save my soul.”

             He drew his horse to a halt at the edge of the marshlands and stared out across the plain towards the sea, with both their camp and the city plainly visible.

             “Having that much power is a terrible responsibility, I think.   Maybe the Evanuris were no different to you or I when they began their rise to godhood, maybe they were the kindly teachers and guides that we remember but somewhere along the way, they forgot who they were and saw everyone as inferior to themselves.   I know there were times when I used the anchor that I felt that way.   Now I have been truly humbled and may be it was deserved.”

             “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Enny.   You did a lot of good with your gift while you had it and if you were so in love with power, why did you relinquish it?”

             “Being Inquisitor you mean?” He laughed.   “That was likely still my pride.   I’m a true Dalish aren’t I?   We submit to no one.   If the Divine wants her own private army, she can build it for herself and find her own captain to run it.”

             “Now that sounds like the Enavir I knew of old.   I was beginning to wonder.   You always were indomitable and hearing you humble and introspective is unnerving.”

             “Just a few years older and hopefully a little wiser,” he grinned. “Come on, I’ll race you for the sea.”

             With that he kicked his horse into a gallop with a wild yell and the pair of them sped across the plain, rejoicing in the wind on their faces and the heady speed with which their horses covered the ground.

             He spent the rest of the day sorting through his equipment, deciding what to leave in the aravel to be brought on in the spring and what he needed to take with him on his journey back to Kirkwall.   He was intending to travel light on horseback to Markham in the hope of getting some insight into the state of the alienage there and persuading the city council to reforms where the elves were concerned.   Then he aimed to cross through the mountain pass to Ostwick before winter snows made it impassable and make further overtures to those in charge there.   After that it would be a straight run along the coast to Kirkwall. With a bit of luck and favourable conditions he hoped to be back in the city before the worst of the winter storms.  

             There was a fair bit of discussion over dinner that evening over who would accompany him.   Enavir was reluctant to deplete the clan too much by taking large numbers with him but his mother and the newly formed Fade Hunters were insistent that he should not travel without sufficient troops to make an impression on the human rulers that he still commanded respect.    

             In the end he agreed the select band that had shown off their prowess earlier in the day would make the journey to Kirkwall, where they could assist with training city elves there.   That would still leave sufficient Dalish defenders as well as city elves to support his mother and the rest of the clan in Wycome.     They could then bring his aravel, along with the rest when they journeyed to the Arlathvhen in the spring.   A plan having been agreed for their travel on the morrow, he retired to bed early.   The last thing he did was contact Dorian with his crystal.

            “How’s it going, is the potion working against the seasickness?”

            “Your mother is a wonder worker.   Do convey my thanks.   It has been fully tested as well.   We hit a squall about half a day out from Wycome and that flung the ship around a bit. It’s calm again now, though.”

            “That’s good.   You’ll let me know when you arrive safely in Antiva City won’t you?”

            “Oh absolutely but that won’t be for another couple of days with the weather being what it is.   So have you done anything interesting since my departure?”

            “I’ve been reviewing my troops.”

            “That was quick work.   You only just got back.”

            “They’ve been working hard training the last few months in anticipation of my return.   We’ve decided to establish a sort of elven Inquisition in the Freemarches.   We’re calling our organisation the Fade Hunters.”

            “Sounds impressive,” Dorian said with an edge of sarcasm. “What are you hunting exactly?”

            “Same sort of thing as the Inquisition always has.   You know, rogue mages, demons, dangerous cultists, that sort of thing.”

            “Business as usual then.”

            “Pretty much so.   We’re hoping to establish a bit of goodwill and raise the profile of the elves generally.   Hopefully that will allow us to build stronger communities that can resist the lure of the Qunari or Fen’Harel.”

            “And if it doesn’t?”

            “Failure is not an option.   Seriously, though, I’m going to find a way to make life better for the elves of Thedas.   I have to.”

            “If anyone can, it is you, Amatus. Just don’t try and do it all on your own.”

            “Don’t worry; I’ve a good team backing me now.   Keep safe, Ma sa’lath.

            “I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble.   Vitae benefaria, Amatus.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

          Markham proved a disappointment.   The Margrave was polite enough but declined the suggestion that perhaps the elves in his city might benefit from some martial training and thought it unlikely that he would need the services of the Fade Hunters.   There seemed little point in getting any of his companions to stay in the city against the Margrave’s wishes as this would only provoke the authorities if found out.   He visited the alienage and provided funds to the Hahren to help his people through the winter, advising him to send word to Kirkwall if they needed anything more.   The only positive he was able to take from his visit was that there had been no sudden defections of elves from the city.   He warned the Hahren to keep a watch for foreign agents luring his younger members with false promises, which effectively covered both the Qunari and Fen’Harel, and bid him adieu.

          Ostwick turned out not much better.   The Teyrn was a bit more receptive, having been encouraged by overtures from Viscount Tethras, but only went so far as to agree to think about training elves in the alienage.   He acknowledged that improving the conditions of the elves might be beneficial in the long run in view of the renewed Qunari threat and the likelihood of their agents being active in the city but was concerned that arming them might prove counterproductive if their loyalties had already been compromised.   Enavir merely emphasised that the elves would likely be loyal enough if given a good enough reason to do so.   The Teyrn gave him leave to canvas for support on his behalf, and promised to ensure the alienage was properly supplied in the coming winter months.   Enavir passed on the same message to the Hahren as he had in Markham and left sufficient funds should the Teyrn forget his promise.   Once again, there seemed no evidence of elves leaving the alienage for no apparent reason.   He started to wonder if the reports from Orlais had just been isolated incidents and unconnected to Fen’Harel.

          At the end of a ten day journey they arrived in Kirkwall. Arriving as they did from the landward side, the most forbidding aspect of the city, the harbour entrance with its statues, known as the twins, to remind of its slaver past, was concealed from view but the sheer black cliffs were stark enough. As they rode through the upper city gate, Atisha frowned.

          “This place has a bad feeling to it.   It’s oppressive how strong it is. It makes me feel queezy.”

          “You’ll be okay?” Josmael was concerned.   “We can stay outside somewhere if you prefer.”

          “No,” she shook her head. “We need to stick together.   It was just a bit overwhelming at first.   I’m adjusting already.”

          “It sure isn’t like Wycome,” said Enansal ruefully.   “So this is where your grand estate is?   I know you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth but…..”

          “I know,” agreed Enavir. “It’s not exactly what I was hoping for either.   Still at least I have got _some_ status in this city and a place to stay.”

         As had been the case in the previous cities, people gave curious glances in their direction and some even openly started as they passed by.  

          “Guess they’re not any more accustomed to seeing mounted elves than we are at being here,” reflected Josmael. “Was it like this when you rode in as the Inquisitor down south?”

          “It was at first.   Then my reputation started to precede me.   Trust me, you’ll get used to it eventually.   To be honest, I quite liked shocking them.   It’s about time they got used to seeing elves who aren’t ashamed of what they are.”

          “I’ll drink to that,” said Enansal.

          A group of armed soldiers, whom he assumed must be from the city guard, moved across their path and their leader held up his hand.   They halted their horses and waited for him to speak.

          “What business do you have in the city?” It wasn’t exactly a threat but there was an edge of suspicion in his voice.

          “Comte Enavir Istamaethorial Lavellan,” Envair gave a brief incline of his head. “I’m here with my clan to examine my estate.   Be so good as to direct me to the noble quarter.”

          “Comte…. Lavellan?” The shock and puzzlement on the soldier’s face made Enavir smile inwardly. “Yes, sir, follow me.” He glanced to his companions and said curtly. “What are you staring at, soldiers?   Be about your business.” He pointed to one. “You there, let Seneschal Bran know that Comte Lavellan has arrived.”

          The road wound down gently between buildings of moderate size, neither ostentatious enough for nobility, nor poor enough for peasants.   Enavir guessed they probably belonged to the merchant class or artisans.   Several of their owners appeared at windows to stare at their cavalcade. Some of them were dwarves, the rest human.   A few elven servants were also in evidence.   Enavir raised his hand and smiled at them in acknowledgement when they ventured a surreptitious glance in their direction.   There was no need for tactful diplomacy and a low profile in this city; he had every right to be here.   A quick glance at his companions assured him they were sitting equally proud in the saddle, although their wide eyed scanning of the environment did rather give away the fact that they were really ill at ease.

           Ahead lay an enormous complex of buildings that Enavir guessed was the Viscount’s palace.   The soldier led them to the east side of the buildings, through a gateway and down a roadway that ran between the palace wall on one side and walled estates on the other.   At the next intersection, he turned left and they were a confronted by a wide plaza, dotted with trees and shrubbery.   Interspersed between these were small areas of fenced lawn and marble benches.   Around the edge of the plaza were a number of walled estates.   The houses themselves were very grand with pillared entrance porches and granite steps leading up to stout front doors, studded with metal and emblazoned with family heraldry.  

           On the far side of the plaza the soldier halted in front of a shuttered building. It had the same imposing frontage as the others, together with a spike topped, high wall and large side gate.

           “Your residence,” announced the soldier and gestured to it with a flourish.

           “It doesn’t look particularly welcoming,” said Aitsha.

           “Well, it has been unoccupied,” explained Enavir as he examined the frontage.  

           He dismounted and walked up to the front door, before peering through a side window. It was so grimy it was hard to see inside.

           “I dare say it will look more cheerful once we’ve spruced it up a bit.” He tried to sound more hopeful than he felt.

           “Ah, Comte Lavellan,”a friendly voice hailed him.

           He turned to see Seneschal Bran approaching, flanked by the soldiers that had been sent to fetch him.

           “The Viscount asked me to keep a watch out for you.   He got the message you sent on that merchant ship from Ostwick.”

           “Didn’t say we had to watch for elves,” muttered the solider who had led them to the plaza.  

           “Didn’t really need to,” said Bran brightly. “I guessed that a group of mounted Dalish elves would attract your attention quick enough. So I presume you’d like me to let you in.”

           He fished in his pocket and removed a ring with a number of keys on it and handed it to Enavir.

           “The keys to your estate, with the compliments of the Viscount of Kirkwall.   No doubt he’ll be around to welcome you himself in due course.   Enjoy your stay in our fair city.”

           With that he prepared to depart with the retinue of soldiers.  

           “Wait a minute,” said Enavir. “I take it there isn’t any food or drink inside. Our horses will need nourishment as well.   Where are we to get these things?”

           “My apologies,” Bran gave an incline of his head. “The Viscount did say that I should ensure your comfort on your arrival. Naturally I shall arrange for the necessary supplies to be delivered to tide you over until you can arrange for your own servants to deal with such matters.   Will there be anything else?”

           “No, that will do for now.”

           Bran gave an obsequious bow and left in the direction of the palace.   Enavir looked at his companions and sighed.

           “Looks like we’ll have to wait for refreshments.   There doesn’t seem to be a lock on the gate this side, so, Enansal, if you and the other lads wait with the horses, Joss, Tish and I will see what awaits us inside and let you in from the courtyard.”

           With that he went to the door and unlocked it.   It creaked open.

           Inside the vestibule was full of cobwebs and dust.   They continued on into the main entrance hall.   It wasn’t much better and this was made worst by the lack of light that created an air of general gloom.

           “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with sarcasm.   “Oh well, I suppose it could be worse.   At least there are only normal sized spiders.”

           “And mice,” said Atisha. “Look, over there.”

           “Item number one on our shopping list, we need a cat.” He opened a few doors to see what lay beyond and ascertained that it was pretty much the same. “Okay, let’s open a few windows and let some fresh air in.” He tossed the keys to Josmael. “If you wouldn’t mind finding the side gate and letting the others in.”

           Josmael left through a side door, while the other two continued their tour of inspection.

           “You know, it really isn’t that bad,” said Atisha. “Once we’ve cleaned the place up a bit, it should be okay.   It’s not as though we’re used to luxury.”

           “Speak for yourself.   I had a castle.”

           “Oh yes, I was forgetting, our mighty Lord Inquisitor.”

           “To be honest, when we got there it was worse than this and three years later there were still holes in the roof in places and gaps in the walls.”

           “Surely not where you slept?”

           “No, if I’m honest, I did have the best quarters in the entire place.”

           “Show off.”

           There was still some furniture in the place, presumably left by its last owner, but it was very sparse on the ground. Enavir sighed.   Clearly they would have to sleep rough for a few more nights.   They found some brooms in a cupboard and started to sweep, starting in the kitchen as they felt it would be best to clean that up first.   A short time later, Josmael reappeared, with two other companions, bearing boxes of food and a crate of wine.

           “Now that looks more promising,” said Enavir.   “Will you do the honours, Tish?”

           Atisha frowned at him.   “I hope you’re not suggesting that just because I’m the girl, I should do the cooking? I’m not a hearth mistress.”

           “Er, well,” Enavir looked at her meekly.

           “Too bad, because I’m a lousy cook.”

           “She isn’t lying,” agreed Josmael.   “I certainly didn’t marry her for that.” He grinned and then ducked as she took a playful swipe at him.

           “Okay, I guess we’ll all have to chip in and hope for the best.”

           “Looks like the horses are going to be better fed than we are,” reflected Josmael. “Enansal and the others are bedding them down at the moment.   I’ll fetch some firewood so we can get the stove going.”

           They actually made a better job of it than anticipated.   Josmael had spent some time hanging out in the kitchens of the city elves back in Wycome, so he knew how to get the stove heated to the right temperature.   After that it was just a case of filling a pot with the ingredients for a stew and leaving it to simmer.  

           They finished cleaning the kitchen while it cooked and then moved on to the main living room.   This had a small dining table and chairs, plus a large open fire, which they soon got blazing merrily.   By the time the meal was ready, they had a reasonably civilised place in which to eat it.   The twelve of them gathered round the table and Enavir toasted their company’s future success.

           No sooner had they finished their meal than there was a ring on their doorbell. It was Varric, come to introduce himself and check they had been fully provided for.

           “How’s it going Lucky? I realise it must be a bit strange for you, what with being used to living out in the woods and all.”

           “Actually we aren’t total barbarians,” Atisha informed him sweetly. “We have acquired some very decent table manners thanks to the example of the delightful folk of Wycome. You know, I think their pride themselves on having shown us how to be civilised at the dinner table. Whoever would have thought using a knife and folk would be so difficult?”

           “Sorry,” Varric conceded with a smile, “I didn’t mean to patronise you.”

           “That’s okay,” said Josmael cheerfully. “Why do you call him Lucky?”

           “When I kept insisting everything was just coincidence and not divine providence, Varric said that no one could be that lucky,” explained Enavir. “So I acquired the nickname.”

           “It’s a habit of mine with friends.” Varric appraised the room. “You could do with a bit more comfort though.   This has been empty for some fourteen years.   Initially Hawke’s lover, Fenris was using it, but he’s moved into her estate now.   His former master had leased it for a time from the merchant who owned it but the latter seemed to have disappeared without trace, so I decided that ten years was long enough for the place to be empty without a claimant.   I started the legal process to get the title back before I became Viscount.   When I did, it turned out there was a whole income tied to the estate that hadn’t been claimed either.   So I used that to buy your title and here you are.”

           He handed over an official looking document, with a seal affixed at the bottom.   This assigned the title of the estate with associated lands and income to Comte Lavellan.  

           “We have a duplicate in my office, in a locked safe, in case anyone tries to steal it away from you.”

           “Thank you, Varric. It’s much appreciated.”

           “Look, I realise Kirkwall isn’t the greatest of places at present, particularly for people used to wide open spaces, but it pays to have a city base if you really want to carry on making an impression on the world.   Nothing like a Hightown address to wipe the sneers off the faces of the nobility, plus you will notice that the title also includes a small estate out in Wildervale.   I’ve not seen it myself and the country up there is said to be pretty rough but that should make it just ideal for you to spread yourself out a bit more.   Unlike the soft human nobility you won’t be daunted by the local wildlife and it will make a good base for your horse breeding operation.”

           Enavir studied the document and saw that the small estate amounted to ten thousand acres.  

           “Wow, Varric, that is very generous.”

           Varric waved aside his thanks. “I should wait until you see it before thanking me. I won it in a bet but I have no use for it. Then I thought of you.”   He started to retreat. “Well I’ll leave you to recover from your journey and settle in.”   Then a thought seemed to strike him. “I nearly forgot.   I got a message from Hawke.   She’s on her way back from Weisshaupt and should be here any day now. Fenris went to meet her in Cumberland.   Do you want to see her when she gets back?”

           “Yes, please.   There are things we need to discuss.”

           “I thought you might. I’ll arrange it then.   See you around”

           The other Dalish watched him leave with astonishment writ large on their faces.

           “ _T_ _hat_ was the Viscount of Kirkwall?” said Josmael, incredulous.

           “Not what you’d expect, eh?”

           “You can say, that, again,” agreed Enansal.

           “I can see now why he’s been so helpful to our cause,” said Atisha.   “However did he manage to swing getting the position of Viscount?”

           “Simple really,” said Enavir. “No one else wanted it.”

*****

           They spent the rest of that day and the following morning getting the house into some semblance of order.   It quickly became apparent that they were distinctly lacking in the skills needed.   In the clan there were specialist craftspeople who dealt with mending the wagons, making cloth from whatever they had available and organising their supplies.   Enavir realised that having a group fighters without some auxiliary troops to support them was a considerable drawback.   Atisha’s leadership skills came in handy in organising their efforts but they needed some expertise in the areas in which they had no real training.   He realised how much he had relied upon the work of the servants at Skyhold behind the scenes to keep things running smoothly, without really acknowledging the difference it made.   The typical attitude of an arrogant noble he noted to his chagrin.

            So, leaving the others to make the best of it, after lunch he went in search of the elven alienage to see if he could recruit some paid assistance.   He assumed if he just kept going down, away from the better dwellings and followed the line of the hovels as they became progressively worse, he would eventually find the alienage.   His route took him through a series of alleys and narrow stairways until they emerged at a crossroads in Lowtown.   To the right lay the merchants’ bazaar, ahead some of the poorer human hovels but he noticed some elves taking a path that lay to the left of one of these. He followed them and sure enough found the elven alienage.   Enavir always had mixed feelings when approaching one of these.   On the one hand he felt pity for the elves that lived there and anger at what the humans had reduced them to, on the other was the Dalish contempt at the resignation that allowed them to stay. He fought against the latter feeling. From what he had heard from city elves over the last few years, not all Dalish clans were as accommodating of refugees as his own.   He remember Minaeve’s tale of abandonment by her clan simply for being a mage child who was surplus to requirements, even though she was a native Dalish.   Then there was Briala’s account of her experience of rejection.   If the city elves wanted to escape this life, they had to have a viable alternative.   Those with the means to help them had to do so. He would assist as best he could. At least in Kirkwall he knew he did it with the blessing of the Viscount.

             At the centre of the square was the Vhenadahl, the tree of the people, its lower trunk painted in bright colours and covered with intricate symbols.   It was said to be a reminder of the ancient homeland, Arlathan.   After his experiences in the Crossroads and Temple of Mythal he wondered if, like his own people, the city elves were recalling something nostalgically that never truly existed as it did in their imagination.   Nevertheless he was touched at the sight.   It was a symbol of unity for the elves here and thus valuable.   Small offerings and simple decorations were hung off poles around the base, personalising the meaning for the elves that had made them.   He was so caught up in studying the tree that he had not noticed someone had approached him, until a gentle female voice broke his reverie.

             “It makes you sad, doesn’t it?” she said wistfully.   “They say there are some alienages that no longer have a Vhenadahl; it died or someone cut it down for fire wood or may be the humans simply destroyed it out of spite, just another loss that takes us further from our heritage.”

             Enavir looked in the direction of the voice and saw a dark haired, beautiful but slightly soulful looking elf, dressed in simple garb in varying shades of green, with the vallaslin of Mythal on her face.

             “Aneth ara, you must be Merrill,” he said. “Varric has told me about you helping the elves here.   I am Enavir Lavellan. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he smiled warmly.

             “You mean that?” Merrill looked doubtful. “Most Dalish don’t like me anymore.”

             “Well, as you’ll come to find out, I’m not most Dalish.” He took her hand in his.   “Atisha Lethallan.”

             “Ma serannas.   Andaran atish’an. Come, it will be more comfortable in my home,” said Merrill.

            She led the way into small two roomed hovel just off the square.   It was sparsely furnished with just a table, a couple of chairs and a shelf with some ornaments in the main living room, plus a small cooking stove.  

            “Please sit,” Merrill indicated one of the two chairs.

            Enavir complied but continued to look around him, scarcely able to believe his eyes.

            “You’re happy to live like this?”

            “Not happy exactly but contented enough.   I don’t really have much choice.”

            “You have friends, though.   Couldn’t they help?”

            “I wouldn’t want any favours.   We haven’t always got on and they have helped in their own way.   Besides I think it is better like this; I can appreciate what it is like for these elves far better if I live with them rather than sympathise with their predicament from a life of luxury.”   She suddenly looked self-conscious and stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to criticise.”

            “So you know about my privileged lifestyle?”

            “Varric told me about you and what he was planning.   He thought you deserved a reward for all the good you’ve done.   I think so too.”

            “It’s good to know someone does.   The nobles down south couldn’t wait to cut me down to size.   My advisors assured me they would probably have acted the same to a human Inquisitor but I can’t help wondering.   Anyway there’s no sense in dwelling on it. I’ve put it behind me to concentrate on the future.   I’d like you to be a part of that if you’re willing.”

            “Me?” Merrill blushed and shifted nervously.   “You don’t know me.”

            “I know a bit.   Varric was quite chatty in the past before I came to Kirkwall.   Your clan cast you out over your use of blood magic and your obsession with a mirror, an eluvian to be precise.”

            “That was more the Keeper’s doing; a sort of temporary banishment to try and bring me to my senses.   It was when we had to kill her that they finally turned against me.”

            “Varric says that wasn’t really your fault; it was the Keeper who allowed herself to be possessed by a demon.”

            “To save me, she said.   If I’d mended the mirror it was going to use it to get to me.”

            “Well, she was wrong.   The demon had no control over the eluvian of itself and it would have taken more than simply mending it to allow it to escape from its prison.   The demon was bound to that place and there was no eluvian leading from it.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “I’ve used an eluvian, more than once in fact.   I’ve also had dealings with the one who does control them now.   They are ancient artefacts of our people but they link to one another and also to a place known as the Crossroads, a sort of place between worlds, neither Thedas nor the Fade.”

            “That sounds amazing.   I wish I’d been there.”

            “It was but some of the things I saw were disturbing.   The bits we remember of our history are mostly true but there is so much more to it than we ever imagined.”

            “Such as?”

            “We did all possess some sort of magical ability and we were immortal but the majority were enslaved by the few and over all were the elven mage gods, the Evanuris.   They didn’t start out as such.   Originally they were respected leaders, a bit like our Keepers, which is clearly how we remember them, but as they grew in power and prestige they became arrogant and cruel, demanding fealty and marking their followers with their symbols.”   He gestured to his vallaslin.   “Only one really cared for her people and protected them, Mythal.   Then she was murdered.”

            “Murdered? Are you sure?”

            “I have it from more than one witness and from Mythal herself.”

            “Wait, you have spoken with one of the gods?   How could you if she is dead?”

            “She lived on as a wisp until she found someone who was willing to act as her host. Flemeth, whom we know as Asha’belannar

            “No!” Merrill was wide-eyed in disbelief.   “I met her too.”

            “As have many Dalish down the years, yet she chose not to reveal herself to them.   Or if she did, they did not say as much to the rest of us.”

            “Why did she not help us more?”

            “I asked her the same.   She suggested we would not have liked it if she had.   Now I think I understand why.   She spoke of wanting vengeance for what was done to her but that could only happen if those responsible were free.   The Evanuris were accused of the deed by the one who imprisoned them.   Fen’Harel.”

            “You’ve met the Dread Wolf?” Merrill said in hushed tones.

            “And lived to tell the tale,” agreed Enavir with a slight smile before becoming serious once more.

            “Fen’Harel was a friend or servant to Mythal.   It’s difficult to know and he didn’t make it clear but I have seen many statues where he is paired with her.   I think he may have been some sort of guardian to her and that is why he felt responsible for avenging her.   I don’t know how he succeeded in tricking the gods into his trap but our legends are right; he was responsible for shutting them away.   The Veil between our world and the Fade is his doing.   Once it did not exist and we could walk between the two.   Raising it enabled him to cut off the Evanuris but it also broke our people’s link with the Fade.   Those with only limited magical ability lost it altogether and we all became mortal.   It was not the humans who caused us to lose our immortality.   It was Fen’Harel.”

            “Shades,” Merrill sat dumb founded as she considered his words.

            “There’s more.   Fen’Harel awoke after slumbering for millennia but he found a world worse not better for the elves.   He had thought to free them from enslavement and give them a better future.   So regretting his former action he strives to reverse it.”

            “He wants to tear down the Veil and free the Evanuris?”

            “Tear down the Veil certainly.   He claims he has a plan for the Evanuris but essentially, yes, they will be freed.”

            “But if they are as bad as he says they are, that can’t be a good thing.”

            “They may be the least of our worries.   He anticipates that tearing down the Veil will plunge our world into a fiery chaos from which the world of the ancient elves will be reborn.   Every living thing in this world will die to bring that about.”

            “Everyone?   Even the elves?”

            “If it didn’t affect the elves, would you be okay with that?”

            Merrill considered for a moment.  

            “No, I wouldn’t. That would be terrible.   It’s monstrous.”

            Enavir got to his feet, moved to Merrill and hugged her.

            “What’s that for?”

            He released her and stepped back.

            “I’m sorry, that was a bit of a test.   I got the idea from a text about Mythal and my encounter with her. Knowing about your determination with the eluvian, I was afraid you might support his efforts to restore the elves to what they once were, even if it was at the expense of everyone else.   Sadly some elves do, assuming he has told them the truth.   I’m glad you are not one of them.   I needed to be sure.   I once looked upon Fen’Harel as a friend.   I knew him by the name of Solas then.   We respected one another, even if we didn’t always agree on all things, particularly his views about the Dalish.   Finding out the truth has rather shaken my trust in other elves.”

            “What does he have against the Dalish?”

            “Apart from our reverence for the Evanuris?” Enavir raised his eyebrows questioningly.   “The fact is that he does not consider us to be his People, nor do the other ancient elves that I have met.   They have existed down to the present by entering Uthenera.   They may well survive what he plans but we shall not.   May be he intends taking his followers to the Crossroads and hopes that will shield them from the worst effects of removing the Veil but he did not indicate as much to me.     He told me I would die and thus I must assume both the Dalish and the City elves will do so too.”

            “So how do you intend to stop him?”

            “In all honesty, Merrill, I have no idea.   I have seen him turn a qunari to stone with a thought.   Whilst he denies the title, he does have the power of a god.”

            “He denies he is a god?”

            “He repudiates the idea that any of them were.   They were just immensely powerful mages.   May be that amounts to the same thing in the end.   The Avaar look upon spirits as their gods and receive assistance from them.   When they need extra help they have called the spirit out to possess a powerful creature, such as a dragon.   If it is killed, the spirit returns to the Fade to reform.   That sounds a lot like what happened with Mythal.   So I believe that the Evanuris were originally spirits that took on mortal form.   Each represented a particular idea that we know them for.   Gradually they became less a one dimensional spirit and more a complex mortal person, with all the faults that we possess as well as the virtues.   I have seen this done myself on a smaller scale.   I was befriended by a spirit that protected me when an envy demon attempted to possess my mind. Afterwards he manifested as a young man and continued to assist us.   Then he became concerned that our enemy might try to bind him to his service.   In preventing this we found a way to make him more connected with this world and less with the Fade.   In other words he became more human.   He even learned how to love.”

            “That’s….incredible.   We’ve always looked upon spirits as simply dangerous.”

            “And yet I’ve heard you relied upon one yourself.”

            “You mean the demon that took Marethari.   Yes, I accepted his help but I never trusted him.”

            “Fen’Harel looks upon all spirits as people.   Another reason I think the Evanuris were originally one with them.   Some spirits may be very simple in form but then mortals can vary greatly in their intelligence and complexity.   The most powerful spirits, such as the demon who helped you, are far more complex than the simple labels we place upon them. The Dalish are right; all spirits are dangerous and for that reason we should never underestimate them but they can also be good, loyal friends.   Just as some people help you simply for their own ends and others because they feel it is the right thing to do.   The trick is distinguishing between the two and the ones we think of as demons are very clever in manipulation, just as some mortals are, but we would be wrong to think that all spirits are not to be trusted.”

            “You seem to have learned so much from your adventures.”

            “I like to think I have and hope to make good use of my knowledge.   So, will you help me?”

            “You don’t mind about the blood magic?”

            “I’m not happy about it.   Then again using lyrium is a form of blood magic, since it is the blood of titans.”

            “Titans?”

            “The dwarves call themselves children of the Stone and speak of it as though it were a living thing.   Though they have forgotten it themselves, the titans are the reason.”

            “The titans are the Stone?”

            “Well, if they aren’t actually the Stone, then they are linked to it.   I’ve been to a city, far underground, beyond the Deep Roads.     Strange dwarves lived there that seemed to serve its will and it was as though we were on the inside of a giant being, a titan.   The walls streamed with silver; liquid lyrium flowing down into rivers and seas.   When a titan awakens, it causes earthquakes that can be felt far away on the surface.   Long ago our ancestors waged a great war that brought the Evanuris to power.   I believe that war was against a titan, or more than one.   They were victorious and it freed the dwarves to become what they are today.   I believe it may also have been the reason the Evanuris rose to power like they did, because it gave them access to lyrium to augment their powers.   Everything they subsequently built was likely based on the power of lyrium, plus their connection to the Fade and the assistance of spirits, in other words powerful magic.”

            “Then Fen’Harel raised the Veil and it was lost,” Merrill sounded wistful.

            “That may not have been a bad thing.”

            “You sound like Fenris,” Merrill became hostile.   “He hates magic too.”

            “I don’t hate it, Merrill.   I may not be a mage but I do love one.   I think it is necessary, though, that magic has boundaries to what can be accomplished, for the sake of everyone.   That’s the problem with blood magic and lyrium too in a way; it gives you power that is beyond your natural abilities; it tempts you to want more and when you cannot achieve what you want with the power you have, you cross the line.   That’s what Dorian thinks anyway.”

            “Dorian?”

            “The reason I am a pariah among the Dalish, or will be when they find out about him.   He’s Ma sa’lath and he’s a Tevinter Magister, a good one.”

            “Fenris would deny that.”

            “May be but I gather from Varric there are reasons for his prejudice.”

            “He hates all mages and magic.”

            “Yet Hawke is a mage. She told me that she sent him from her side because she was afraid he would be killed trying to protect her; that he would die to do so.   Varric tells me he has gone to be reunited with her in Cumberland.   Clearly he must believe there is at least one good mage in the world.”

            “He would say it is the exception that proves the rule.   I’d be careful if he ever meets your Dorian.   His hatred runs deep.”

            “I’ll bear that in mind.   Dorian would not condemn your use of blood magic outright, since you have not sacrificed others as the worst blood mages do, and have not used it to manipulate others and improve your status as many mages in his country do.   He would council caution, though, in relying on it, even though you have the best of intentions.   His greatest fear is temptation because he knows how even good mages may resort to questionable means to achieve their aims.   I hope my love will keep him strong in the challenges that lie ahead for him.   He has returned to Tevinter to fight against the corruption and cruelty among the Magisterium in the hope of saving Tevinter from itself.”

            “Without you?”

            “That wasn’t easy for either of us but we have a means of keeping in touch.   We both have important things to do that mean for a while we must sacrifice our personal happiness.   There are matters I must attend to in the south and though I find it hard to say it, even loving Dorian as I do, I think if we are to save our world, if only from the Qun, we do need to save Tevinter.”

            “That won’t endear you to our People either.”

            “True but I probably won’t mention it.   It’s not really important to the argument with the Dalish, since we’re unlikely to embark on a war with the Imperium any time soon.   What they need to hear about is everything concerned Fen’Harel and hopefully to convince them not to support him.”

            “You mean to take this to the Arlathvhen?”

            “Yes, the next one is in the spring and I’d like your support.”

            “I have no clan; I am an outcast.”

            “You have my clan and will be under my protection.”

            Merrill’s glance drifted to his truncated left arm.   Enavir caught her eye and gave a reproving look.

            “Don’t let my arm fool you.   I may be adjusting to the change but I reckon I could still deal with most threats to our safety.   So are you in?”

            “Yes, thank you.”

            “Good.   Now you can tell me what you need to assist you with your work here and how best to help these elves.   I’d also like you to introduce me to the Hahren.   My estate up in Hightown needs a bit of work doing to it and I’d like to employ the elves here to do it.   Also, though I hate the idea of using elves as servants, I have to admit that I’m not much good when it comes to running a domestic set up.   My friends and I are specialist fighters and need to be free to travel around the countryside where we are needed, so I require people here I can rely on to keep things running smoothly in our absence.”

            “If you treat them with respect and value their efforts as you say, then you don’t have to feel guilty about using them in that way.   It is only how we manage things in the clans.” She paused and looked self-conscious. “I assume that is how things are still done.”

            “Yes, it is, and what you say is true.   Thank you for your insight on the matter.   Well, how should I begin?”

*****

            That night Dorian reported his safe arrival in Qarinus.

            “So, how have you been amusing yourself today?”

            “I’ve made my first contact in Kirkwall, an outcast Dalish elf.   We’re going to set up a school together and an orphanage, so children will have somewhere to go other than the Chantry; all children, not just elves.”

            “Interesting. You think that will work, bearing in mind the prejudices on both sides of the community?”

            “Children don’t have prejudices on their own, only what they are taught.   Catch them early and you can direct their minds a different way.   It’s worth a try anyway.   Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

            “My sentiments entirely.   I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

            “Just one?”

            “Fishing for compliments I see.   You realise this crystal is not meant for trivialities.”

            “Really?   So, what’s wanting to listen to your velvety voice then?”

            “Insolence!   Perhaps I should go.”

            “No, don’t do that.”

            Enavir realised his voice sounded a little too pleading but didn’t care; he was just savouring hearing him, although it only increased his longing to be with him. Dorian laughed; then continued sincerely.

            “I needed to hear yours too.   Talk trivialities for as long as you wish.”

            They conversed long into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

           The elves he had recruited from the alienage started work at his house the next day.   Before long all the necessary repairs had been made to the structure, curtains had been hung and the kitchen was fully up and running.   A jovial female, Sharel, took charge of preparing their meals and ensuring their larder was kept stocked. She suggested he set up an account with some of the local stores.   Other elves took over the running of the stable yard and were also able to give advice on what to do with the stable manure and the best places to source animal feed.  

           A rather dignified grey haired elf, called Tenaril, had offered his services as steward the night before.   He had apparently worked for a number of years for one of the local nobility, who had recently returned to take up his family seat in Orlais, and he had directed Enavir to Seneschal Bran for a reference.   Having checked this out, Enavir agreed to him taking up the post.   The first thing he recommended was providing uniforms for his staff.

           “It will save them spoiling their own clothes and give them an official status in the city. People will know they work for you so they will gain more respect.   That in turn will raise your own standing by making your presence more visible wherever they go.”

           “Fair enough,” agreed Enavir. “Can you recommend any elven seamstresses or tailors I could use?”

           “None that own their own businesses but there are those who would be glad to earn some extra money in their spare time if you would supply the materials.”

           “Very well, you can order emerald green in whatever material you deem best and have them embroider a golden tree wherever the noble’s emblem would normally go.   Tell them, if they do the job well, I’ll set them up in their own business.”

           The following day he had word from Varric that Hawke was back in the city and would call round that afternoon if he wished.   The rest of the team had already planned on taking a half day’s ride out of the city up onto the Sundermount, where Merrill had told them there were unquiet spirits if they wanted to get some experience in dealing with them.   Josmael assured him that they could manage without his assistance, so he sent word back to Varric that he looked forward to seeing the Champion later that day.

           Enavir had bought some comfortable chairs, so he arranged with Sharel to provide some light refreshment to his sitting room once the guests had arrived.   Varric and company were prompt in their arrival and Tenaril showed them in.

           “The honourable Varric Tethras, Viscount of Kirkwall, the Lady Seren Hawke, our Champion, and Ser Fenris,” he announced grandly.

           Varric rolled his eyes expressively and Enavir did his best to keep a straight face.

           “Thank you, Tenaril; that will be all.”

           Once the door was closed, Varric gave a laugh.

           “You certainly seem to be settling into your role of nobility.   Didn’t he used to work for the Marquis de Montblanc?”

           “He offered his services and Bran seemed to think I wouldn’t be disappointed. I don’t really like standing on ceremony but he insists I shouldn’t let the side down by acting like a rustic yokel.   His words.”

           “Well, don’t let him walk all over you.   These stewards are full of their own importance when it comes to keeping up appearances.   I should know.”   Varric gestured to Hawke.   “You remember our Champion.”

            “I do indeed.   Welcome, Lady Hawke.”

            She smiled back and inclined her head, before gesturing to her companion.

            “And this is Ser Fenris.”

            “Fenris will do,” he said in surly fashion. “I have no wish of a noble title, particularly one I haven’t earned.”

            Enavir studied Hawke’s lover, already knowing him by reputation from Varric’s novel, the _History of the Champion_ and Merrill’s warning.   He had dusky skin and a mass of white hair, the latter having been turned that colour by the shock of the magical process that gave him the strange silver markings on his skin which granted him unique powers in battle.   Enavir tried not to stare too hard at these as he held out his hand in greeting.

            “I’m sure you as just as worthy of the title as anyone else.   Andaran Atish’an.”

            “I don’t speak elven either.”

            “Now, now, Fenris, play nice,” Hawke admonished him. She held out her own hand to Enavir. “Good to see you again, _Inquisitor_ ,” she said with a smirk.

            “I see you have already heard the news.   I am Inquisitor no longer, of my own choice.   Well, in truth, once it was clear I was not to be permitted to retain the organisation as whole, even by the Divine.”

            “Yes, it’s odd how quickly we fall from favour when it suits those on high.   I heard there was a suggestion you might have served the Divine, though, as her peacekeeping force.”

            “I am nobody’s lackey.” Enavir frowned.

            “Yet you put her there.”

            “I did not participate in the vote, nor was I invited to.   They made their own minds up on that appointment and if I had any influence over the decision, it was not through intent but simply others manipulating my reputation for their own ends, as with everything else.”

            “Such bitterness,” Hawke shook her head.   “I am sorry it had to end the way it did. Yet I’ve heard that Divine Victoria has instituted many reforms.   Would it not have been helpful to support her?”

            He gestured to the seats. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

            They complied, Fenris placing a package that he had been holding by his feet. When they were all seated, he continued. “The Divine was the first to suggest that I should disband even before the Exalted Council started.   I’m still not sure quite what to make of that but I can only think that her advice was genuine and she thought I could work better from the shadows than bound to Orlais.”

            “Bound to Orlais?”

            “Such has always been the case.   The Chantry was founded by Drakon.   It was as much his tool as the instrument of the Maker.   It derives most of its political power from Orlais and will rely on them even more with the Templars and the Inquisition disbanded.”

           “Both by your hand, I seem to recall, but isn’t that even more reason to have the Inquisition there as a force independent of the Crown to support the Divine?”

           “Help her enforce her will, you mean, as Justinia before her no doubt intended when she gave authorisation to the setting up of the Inquisition.   Tell me something, if the Chantry did reflect the will of the Maker, how is it possible that down the years the Divine can so easily insert and replace texts into the Chant?   How is it possible for them to alter the interpretation of Andraste’s teaching to suit the whim of the current Divine?   Why are they so willing to hide the truth about Shartan, about Ameridan and even about me?   My Keeper sent me to spy on the Conclave and I learned so much more about human history, in particular the Chantry, than I ever imagined I would.”

            “Not to mention, elven history,” Varric added with a grin.

            “Which they would conveniently ignore because it doesn’t match with what they claim are their prophet’s words.   They should never have forced that title of Herald of Andraste on me.   It made me take far more interest in what I was meant to represent than I might otherwise have done.   I have listened to and read the Chant repeatedly and I tell you straight, the Chantry and the nobles who enjoy its patronage only pay lip service to its teachings and ignore those that do not fit with their view of themselves.”

            “So what are you saying?” Hawke cocked her head on one side as though thinking.

            “That I am prepared to believe in the Maker but not the Chantry and I do not believe that the organisation truly represents him.   That is why I disbanded the Inquisition.”

            Hawke glanced at Varric and then Fenris, before throwing back her head in laughter.

            “Welcome to our fellowship.   We too believe in the Maker and follow his moral code but have no faith in the Chantry.”

            “White or Black,” Fenris added with a glare at Enavir.

            “So you’ve heard about my Tevinter associate?” He stared back unabashed.

            “Indeed.”

            “Dorian is a good man.”

            “The only good Magister is a dead Magister.”

            “One day, I hope to prove you wrong,” Enavir said without rancour.   “Others felt the same as you when he first came to us.   I did myself but I came to realise I had misjudged him and started to appreciate him for his true worth.”

            Fenris gave a twisted smile. “Is that what you call it?   How many innocents died to put him where he is?”

            “Are you really such a sniff necked bigot?” Enavir returned mildly.

            Fenris began to glow in a disconcerting fashion, until Hawke put a restraining hand on his arm.

            “Not all mages are the same, remember?”

            “And Dorian is particularly dear to me,” added Enavir.   “Please bear that in mind before making any hasty judgements on him.”

            Fenris scowled but the glowing subsided.

            “A Magister gave me these tattoos to make me a more efficient killer.   He came to regret it since I eventually killed him.”

            “And he no doubt deserved it. Dorian could use an ally like you.   He’s trying to reform his homeland, in particular the reliance on blood magic behind the scenes and other forms of corruption.   He intends to kill a few Magisters.”

            “Only a few?” Fenris queried with a sneer.   “That would only scratch the surface.”

            “Perhaps you would care to enlighten me then.   I could do with a few pointers to pass on to him.”

            “I’ll think about it,” Fenris conceded.

            Enavir nodded his appreciation.  

            “Well, let’s get down to business. I invited you here today because you have each in your own way become involved with the events of the last fourteen years and helped to save the world from the dangers that threatened it.   You have also experienced people turning against you and shutting their eyes to the implications of truths that you revealed.   So it is my hope that you will not dismiss my fears as the rantings of an elf who wishes to cling on to his importance in a world that no longer needs him.”   He paused for deliberate effect.   “The Dread Wolf is not an elvish myth.   Fen’Harel is real and his plans will result in the destruction of our world, unless we find a way to stop him.”

            “Seriously?” Fenris gave him a sceptical look. “A genuine elf god?”

            “Actually, he would deny his divinity, whilst making godlike decisions on behalf of the world.”

            “How do you know he’s not just some mad man, or elf rather?” Hawke smirked.

            “A mad elf that can turn you to stone with a thought,” responded Enavir.   “An accomplished trickster who fooled us all into thinking he was a friend but all the time was steering us in the direction he wished us to take.   For a time I bore the mark of magic that should have been his.” He gestured towards his maimed left arm.   “As you can see, I no longer have it.    Strangely enough, but for Corypheus this world would already be burning. Fen’Harel gave him the orb, intending for him to unlock its power and be destroyed in the process but he erred in not finding out enough about his intended victim.   Corypheus was able to regenerate following the explosion but had lost the anchor to me, another unwitting accomplice.   So Fen’Harel was forced to assist me, initially by stopping the anchor from killing me and then in foiling the plans of the self-styled Elder One but only in the hope of recovering his orb.   Unfortunately for him, in defeating Corypheus I also destroyed the orb.   So now he has to find a new source of power and therein is our hope.   We must foil his efforts or use the time to prove to him that his plan either will not work or is not necessary.”

            “How exactly?” asked Hawke.

            “That’s part of the problem.   I just don’t know.   Fen’Harel has always only told me just as much as he wanted to and no more.   When I asked why the world had to die, he patronisingly said that was a good question but he wasn’t going to answer it in case he gave me too much information.     I can only go on what he intended for me to do and the way he directed events.”

            “He wanted people to sleep walk to their doom,” explained Varric.   “He had clearly observed how nobles in particular are only too happy to ignore events that do not directly affect them.”

            “He saved my life, so I could continue to control the Inquisition, keeping life in the south peaceful and comfortable so that people would cease to worry about what he might be doing and simply enjoy themselves, yet had damaged its reputation sufficiently that the rulers would insist on it being cut down in size.     I chose not to dance to his tune, or that of those rulers for whom I have no respect.   Let Orlais and Ferelden deal with their own problems and the Divine find soldiers from among her own faithful.   I have no wish to be distracted from the only issue worth bothering about, which is why I am here, having dismantled the organisation which I built.   It was riddled with his agents in any case.   I want to keep him guessing what my next move will be.”

            “What do you intend?” Hawke glanced at Fenris. “I imagine a knife to the heart would be an effective way of stopping his plans.”

            “Or a fist,” he agreed.

            “If you could get near enough to strike at him,” Enavir shook his head.   “He is a dreamer with extensive knowledge of the Fade and the friendship of spirits.   I doubt anyone in the modern era has encountered anything like him before.”

            “I have some idea what you mean,” said Hawke.   “There was a young mage called Feynriel that I helped; he was a dreamer. I sent him to Tevinter when it was clear he couldn’t get the guidance he needed here.     We exchanged correspondence until I went on the run.   He told me I am something of a folk hero there for killing the Arishok.”

            “Could you point Dorian in the direction of this Feynriel then?   It might help if we need him up there.”

            “Distance is no barrier,” Fenris said dryly.   “He managed to influence the minds of some men trying to rape a girl he knew down here; he succeeded in getting them to kill one another from his base in Tevinter.”

            Enavir stared at him open mouthed in astonishment.

“Are dreamers really capable of this? So there is no limit to Fen’Harel’s range either.”

            “I guess not,” said Hawke. “You should ask your Dorian to research these matters more when he gets back to Minrathous.   There must be more in the archives about the dreamers.   I’ll let him know about Feynriel as well. He was apprenticed in Minrathous last time I heard from him, although that was some years ago. Still it was my fault that we lost touch. It would be reassuring to know he is still okay.”

            “Let’s just hope he isn’t working for one of Dorian’s enemies.” Enavir said ruefully.

            “Good, well that seems to be making progress on the Tevinter front,” remarked Varric. “The other problem is what to do about the elves.”

            “Are the elves a problem?” asked Hawke.

            “You know better than I do what conditions are like for the elves in the alienages,” answered Enavir. “Already many have been enticed into acting as agents for the Qun because it seemed an _improvement_ on the life they have.   What effect do you think agents of Fen’Harel will have when they sell them a promise of restored elven glory?”

            “Likely jump at the chance to join him,” agreed Hawke.

            “And this would be a bad thing?” Fenris said with a raised eyebrow.

            “They won’t be around to enjoy it.   We will die along with the other races.   Of course some may feel that this is preferable to the life they current have if they at least know they will be avenged on their oppressors. I regret that I will probably find such an attitude among some of the Dalish; why should the city elves be any different?   Mind you, I can’t be certain that he has approached them.   I checked with the alienage in Denerim and with several in the Freemarches.   To date there haven’t been the same defections as there were in Orlais or from the Inquisition itself before I disbanded it.   May be his agents weren’t modern elves at all but his own kind posing as them.”

            “His own kind?” Fenris looked bemused.

            “Ancient elves awakened from uthenera to serve him.   They don’t think that we count as real elvhen.”

            Fenris started to chuckle. “I can see how that would come as something of a blow to you proud Dalish.”

            Enavir ignored the jibe.   “In any case, he is not above using people and then discarding them once they have fulfilled his purpose and he may yet have a use for them that will bring them into conflict with those who wish to prevent his destruction of the world.   That is my chief fear; I don’t want to have to kill elves if I don’t have to, when all they are guilty of is being beguiled by the ancient trickster of our people.”

            “I see the problem,” Hawke looked thoughtful. “We need to start a bit of our own propaganda.”

            “And recruit a few agents of our own,” added Fenris.   “Get them to keep watch for elves acting strangely.”

            “That’s what I’ve been doing these last few weeks,” said Enavir. “Already there have been reports of servants going missing from Orlais and some of those that worked for the Inquisition not returning to their homes.   If we can find some way of identifying and following them, that might at least give us a rough idea of where the Dread Wolf’s base is, although if he is evacuating them through the eluvian network that may be of little help, since it could be anywhere.”

            “Worth a try though,” agreed Hawke. “I’ll pass along the word to those I know.”

            “Good, that’s a start then.   Briala is doing what she can in Orlais.   When I told her how the Dread Wolf had murdered her friend, she was less enamoured of him than she might have been, particularly as he took the eluvians from her.   I suggest you use your contacts to detect anything unusual going on, particularly vibes concerning magical artefacts.   Fen’Harel is going to need a new source of power.   Whilst he has clearly acquired greater strength since I first knew him, it will not be sufficient for what he needs.   There have to be other caches of elven artefacts that have not yet been plundered.   Most will be in out of the way places but not necessarily all.   Watch for signs.”

            “Fair enough.”

            “Varric, will you be our drop point for information. It will seem less suspicious considering your business contacts and so less likely to draw the attention of Fen’Harel’s agents.”

            “Very well.”

            “You’re very passionate about this, aren’t you,” remarked Hawke.  

            “Anything wrong with that?”

            “Simply that being so committed to a cause can sometimes blind you to all else.   Everyone who doesn’t agree with you becomes the enemy.   In the end you become what you hated.”

            “She means Anders,” said Varric. “A cautionary tale if ever there was one.”

            “Or Solas,” said Enavir. “We thought he was committed to helping people and seemed to approve when I did. Yet all along he intended to use his orb to tear down the Veil and plunge our world into a fiery chaos. All that seemed to matter was reversing his previous action because he didn’t like the results, regardless of the effect it would have on those who had done him no harm.”

            “Sounds like Anders and his crusade the free the mages,” said Hawke.   “He was so focussed against the Chantry and the injustice towards the mages, he couldn’t even seem to admit to himself that there are mages who do abuse their power and cause people to suffer as a result; there was always an excuse for their actions.   Then he blew up the Chantry knowing the damage it would cause, the lives that would be lost and even the likely result for the mages in the Circle.   So long as he achieved his aims they were a necessary sacrifice.   The tragic thing was I wanted the freedom of mages but not that way.   Yet many people think I condoned his actions simply because I fought on the side of the mages against the Templars.   There were many innocents in the Gallows and they were going to kill them all regardless.   I couldn’t allow that.”

            “She even managed to convince me of the rightness of her actions,” said Fenris. “Though I suppose you could argue I was somewhat biased in my affections.”

            “You talked round the Choirboy as well, though,” Varric grinned.   “I’ll never forget the look on his face when you claimed Andraste would be there waving her torch of freedom along with the rest of us.”

            “Choirboy?” queried Enavir.

            “Sebastian, the Prince of Starkhaven,” replied Hawke.   “That was Varric’s nickname for him.   Never too impressed with our Prince, were you?   I suppose that’s why you persistently ignore his correspondence.”

            “Just wanted to leave something for you to do,” Varric retorted with a grin.   “You could always sweet talk him and never seemed to mind his religious fervour.   I find it hard to respect a man who won’t let his hair down with a round of Wicked Grace.”

            “Are you still friends with this Sebastian?” asked Enavir.

            “I assume so.   We were on good enough terms the last time I saw him.   Why do you ask?”

            “I could do with getting the approval of another influential figure in the Freemarches.   Not all leaders seem as enthusiastic about my efforts as Varric.   Starkhaven is the largest city and its ruler the wealthiest. If he is also a devout Andrastrian, it could really help my cause to have his support.”

            “I’ll be happy to oblige but I doubt we could make the journey now, with winter setting in.   The passage through the mountain will be impassable in a matter of days once the storms begin.”

            “In the spring, once the weather breaks then.”

            At this point they were interrupted by servants bringing in the refreshments he had ordered.   They were laid out on low tables for them to serve themselves.   Hawke helped herself to a glass of Antivan wine.

            “So you supported the Templars in the rebellion.   That is something of a surprise.”

            “Not true.   I sought their assistance in closing the breach; that is all.   To be honest I went to the mages first but they had already indentured themselves to Tevinter.”

            “Why?”

            Enavir shrugged.   “They claimed they had no choice after the Conclave but all I could see was they had sold out of the people of Ferelden after their monarch had given the mages the protection of Redcliffe Castle.   Dorian maintained the Magister had pre-empted me using time magic but I didn’t trust his word at the time.   In any case that didn’t take away from the fact that the mages had chosen of their own free will to join with a hostile foreign power.   Some of them were complaining that they didn’t like the decision of the majority but none of them asked to leave with my party. The only person who did was a tranquil and it was a good job he did in view of what had happened to the others.”

            “Did something happen to the tranquil?” Hawke frowned.

            “You didn’t hear about that?” Enavir’s voice was scathing and he glared accusingly at Varric. “No one seems to think that crime worth remembering.   Just because they have been robbed of their emotions, doesn’t mean they aren’t people still.   We discovered a shack full of skulls and a note revealing where they came from.   The Venatori sacrificed dozens of tranquil who had fled with the mages in order to use the skulls to search for ancient artefacts.   No one objected or lifted a finger to prevent it; likely they were just glad not to have them around anymore, so didn’t ask where the Venatori were taking them.   They deserved better, particularly since we now know tranquillity _can_ be reversed.”

            “What?” Hawke’s eyes went wide. “Permanently?”

            “Yes; and the Lord Seeker always knew it.   The mages knew it too.   That secret was revealed just before the rebellion began in earnest.   They claimed to be outraged about it being suppressed and yet ignored the plight of the very people who had suffered that fate. It was after seeing those skulls that I knew that whatever was going on in Redcliffe, it needed to be stopped and I felt totally out of my depth in how to deal with them.   So I went to seek the help of the Templars, initially in closing the breach but it had been my intention to deal with the Magister in Redcliffe after that. If time magic was involved then Alexius was very dangerous indeed and I wanted some magic negating specialists as back up, particularly as he had so many mages to call on.”

            He took a sip of wine to steady his emotion before continuing more calmly.

            “As it turned out, the mage rebellion came against me with Corypheus. I regret that resulted in so many deaths but they could have refused to work with him. Dorian did. I still find it hard to believe that they would so easily surrender their freedom and loyalties to Tevinter.     A Dalish would not, even in the face of death.”

            “Really?” Fenris said with a knowing look. “I thought you had done so.”

            “That came much later.   Dorian is different.   If I had realised that sooner, may be the tragedy of the mages could have been averted but it’s easy to be wise in hindsight.”

            “Indeed,” said Hawke. “We know that to our cost don’t we Varric?”

            “You can say that again.”

            “So how were things up in Weisshaupt?”

            “Not good.   The First Warden seems too wrapped up in the politics of the Anderfels even to care about what happened in Orlais.   Some of the other senior Wardens are more concerned and have been studying their archives for examples of blood magic use, what went on in the early history of the Wardens and theories on the origins of the Blight.   The reason I stayed so long is that I was helping them in the hope of finding clues to the origins of red lyrium and how to deal with it.”

            “That’s interesting.   Don’t they agree with the Chantry version of the Blight?”

            “Officially, yes, but unofficially there are records that suggest there have been Wardens who thought the Magisters found Dumat before they went to the Golden City and he was the one who directed them.   He could even have been tainted then.”

            “That doesn’t fit with what we found in the Fade.”

            “Well, there is another theory that there was more than one group active at the time.   So Corypheus and his lot were working independently of the others.   The important thing is that the Wardens have never entirely believed the official Chantry line.   They point out that if you go by their timescale the Magisters would have had to have gone to the Golden City, fallen back to earth, raised an army of darkspawn and discovered Dumat all in the space of a year.”

            “They didn’t overrun the dwarven thaigs for another fifteen years,” said Varric. “May be they didn’t find Dumat straight away.”

            “The Magisters would all have been human though, right?” queried Enavir.

            “I guess so,” said Hawke.

            “And probably only one or two of them would be female.   How quickly do brood mothers reproduce?   Plus they would only be Hurlocks.” He shrugged. “I suppose it isn’t that important if the Chantry is right or not.”

            “It is if we want to rid the world of the Blights,” said Varric. “Not to mention the red lyrium, that seems to be a substance infected with the same taint.”

            “The Hero of Ferelden is working on that line of enquiry.   I take it the leadership in Weisshaupt hadn’t heard anything back from her yet?”

            “Not that I am aware,” said Hawke.   “There was one interesting rumour in the fortress, though.   It seems that the griffons may no longer be extinct.”

            “Really, are you sure?”

            “As I say, it was only a rumour that I don’t think I was meant to hear.   However, if true, that is good news.”

            “I’ll drink to that.” Enavir raised his glass.

            There was a short pause in conversation as they helped themselves to food.   The shadows were beginning to form and the servants swept in to light the lamps.   Shortly after Fenris nodded to Hawke and handed her the package that had been by his feet.   She unfastened it and removed an object wrapped in cloth.   They stood in front of Enavir.

            “I know you have always strenuously denied being the Herald of Andraste but it seems to us that your opinions about the Chantry and your actions as Inquisitor have made you very much a suitable representative of the Champion of Freedom.   You are also going to have to retrain your skills and adapt, so we thought you ought to have a weapon to use when you do, that befits your status and declared aims.”

            She removed the cloth to reveal a long sword, the glint of which revealed it to be made of silverite, whilst strange markings adorned the hilt and blade.   Fenris spoke.

            “This is Glandivalis, the sword of Shartan.   We found it in the lair of a demon in Darktown.   How it came to be there Maker only knows.   Hawke gave it to me because I have a certain reverence for Shartan but I favour a two handed blade, so I think it will be of more use to you.” He gave him an approving smile.

            Enavir stared at the sword with open mouth; glanced up at Hawke and then to Fenris with a questioning look.  

            “But I thought after what you said about Dorian….”

            Fenris looked embarrassed.   “May be I was a little hasty.”

            “Even Andraste’s daughter married a Tevinter mage,” said Hawke.  

            “I’d really like you to have it,” Fenris insisted.

            Enavir clasped the handle of the sword, overcome with emotion.

            “I don’t know what to say, except thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.

            Hawke smiled at him. “From one Champion to another, use it well.”

*****

            “Ma Sa’lath.”

            “Amatus.”

            “How are things going at your end? Any clues as to who killed your father?”

            “It’s early days yet.   Maevaris has some leads for me to follow up on when I get back to Minarthous but I suspect they’ll have covered their tracks well.”

            “You will be careful, won’t you?”

            “I promise, Amatus. So have you anything new to report?”

            “I’ve acquired a special sword.”

            “Another one?   “What _have_ you been up to this time?”

            “I’ve been given the sword of Shartan.”

            “Seriously?”

            “That’s right; Glandivalis.   Now you really are going to have to free all your slaves.   I couldn’t bear it in good conscience otherwise.”

            Dorian laughed heartily. “Very well, Amatus, you win.      

**  
**


	6. Chapter 6

          Enavir spent the next few months working with his friends in Kirkwall.   Merrill and Atisha co-operated in setting up a school in part of his home.   The rest of the team worked with recruits from the alienage training them in weapon skills, scouting and horsemanship.   Gradually their numbers grew, so that they had a force of a hundred and fifty city elves that could hold their own in the field and train others by the time the worst of the winter had passed. Soon the passes through the mountain were clear once more, allowing him to visit Starkhaven with Hawke and Fenris.   His other Dalish companions accompanied them as they intended waiting with him there for their clan to join them from Wycome.   They would then carry on via his estate in Wildervale to the Arlathvhen, which would be gathering in the Planasene Forest in the month of Cloudreach.   He left his group camping a short way out of the city, near some ruins, while he carried on with Hawke and Fenris.

           Starkhaven was reputed to be the richest city state in the Freemarches but Enavir was still surprised at the ostentatious wealth that was on display as they rode up the main avenue to the palace. The walls of the houses of the nobility were decorated profusely with gold and marble inlays, while the grounds were filled with a multitude of flowering shrubs, close cut lawns and geometric flower borders.   Each gate had the coat of arms of the owner proudly displayed, whilst some had the addition of pennants in the family’s colours.   There were many servants in evidence, working to keep these grounds tended to the right standard, the majority of them elves.   As Enavir’s party rode past, some of them looked up and he noticed the shock and amazement on their faces when they realised that two of the riders were elven warriors.   Enavir inclined his head to them in acknowledgement of their presence and gave a smile of encouragement; there was nothing wrong in honest employment but he’d wager some of the younger elves he could see would appreciate the opportunity to do something more than follow the whims of the nobility.

           “Do you suppose our ancestors were as vulgar in their displays of wealth as these people?” Fenris said as he gazed with thinly veiled contempt at the vista.

           “I think they may have been worse,” Enavir responded with a wry smile.   “They had the benefit of magic to enhance the display.”

           “Worse indeed,” muttered Fenris, with a teasing glance in Hawke’s direction.

            They rode through the gateway to the palace and along a granite paved path to the front door.   Here servants ran forward to hold their horses for them and they entered the vestibule.   There was a short wait while they heard themselves announced and then they were ushered into the main public meeting hall of the palace.   Hawke had sent ahead to warn of their arrival, so they had exclusive access to the ruler of Starkhaven.  

           Prince Sebastian was looking regal in resplendent white armour, his family coat of arms picked out in precious stones on the chest.   Enavir was surprised at the finery, Hawke having told him of Sebastian’s previous devotion to the Chantry as a lay brother.   Then he recalled the reverend mother that he had been introduced to by Vivienne and how she had looked more the fine lady than a holy cleric and wondered no more.

           “Hawke, how good of you to visit,” Sebastian sounded genuinely pleased to see her. “And not before time I might add.”

           “I have been otherwise engaged since we last met, as you well know.”

           “Yes, yes, I was only teasing.   Mind you I am less pleased with your new Viscount. When am on going to get an answer to my letters?”

           “Well actually that’s part of the reason for my visit.   Varric has delegated the task to me, as he has done with many of his more standard administrative duties.   He’s very good at getting projects started and moving them along but not so good at paperwork.   After leaving you so long, it seemed politer to give you a more personal response.”

           “Much appreciated.”   He gestured to the surrounding room.   “As you can see, the wealth of Starkhaven was not much diminished by my predecessors rule.   I sent some of it in Kirkwall’s direction to help with the rebuilding.   I must say I’m a bit disappointed more hasn’t been done to restore the Chantry there.”

           There was a brief pause and Enavir gave a pointed cough.   Sebastian seemed to notice him for the first time.

           “Comte Enavir Istimaethoriel Lavellan.   Did I hear that right?”

           “Is it such a surprise to find an elf with a noble title?” Enavir raised his eyebrows and gave a wry smile.

           “Forgive me, I meant no offence.”

           “You might be more familiar with his former title,” said Hawke.   “Allow me to introduce Lord Inquisitor Lavellan, Herald of Andraste.”

           The change in Sebastian’s demeanour was immediate and astonishing.   He looked respectfully at Enavir and gave a reverential bow.

           “My lord, forgive my ignorance at not recognising you at once. I had no idea.”

           Enavir glanced sideways at Fenris and winked with the eye concealed from Sebastian.

           “An understandable mistake, particularly since I am no longer Lord Inquisitor of Thedas.”

           “Whatever be the case with your temporal title, the blessing of the Maker can never be taken away.   Is it true you walked the Fade and met with the shade of Divine Justinia?”

           “I met with a spirit who looked like her. More than that, I cannot say.”

           “And Andraste, she saved you and gave you the mark of her blessing.”

           “No, that was the shade of Justinia too, despite what you may have heard.   As for the mark,” he threw back his cloak to reveal his maimed left arm, “that came from a different source.   It was an ancient elven magic that came to me by accident.   Like all powerful magic, ultimately there was a price to pay for its use; in my case the loss of my arm.”

           “You have my sympathy.   I too suffered loss through powerful magic.”

           Enavir inclined his head in acknowledgement that he had heard of his history.

           “It was hard on you, I know. Magic can do terrible harm in the wrong hands, which is why I have come to you now as someone who would support my efforts in preventing even greater suffering as the result of the misuse of magic.”

           “Indeed.   What would you have me do?”

           “As you know, the Templar order was disbanded.   It had been undermined and its leadership corrupted by a demon working with Corypheus.   The surviving Templars were absorbed into the Inquisition.   Now that has also been disbanded most have returned to the Chantry fold in Orlais. There is a need for a magical task force to respond to dangers presented at a local level.”

           “I had thought as much myself but have not the expertise in the field.”

           “Which is where we come in.   I wish to restore an ancient order of the Dales, the Emerald Knights, in particular a branch known as the Fade Hunters.   It is from their ranks that Ameridan, the last Inquisitor before me, came.   He was an elven mage and friend to the Emperor Drakon, who specialised in hunting down demons and maleficarum.”

           “The Emperor Drakon was friends with an elven mage?”

           “Yes, and placed absolute trust in him.” Enavir removed a paper from the pouch on his belt.   “See, this is the original writ from the Emperor. It has been magically preserved.   Copies are now in the Chantry archive in Orlais.   Inquisitor Ameridan saved Orlais from attack by hostile barbarians with a dragon at their head and thus freed up the Emperor to fight the darkspawn in the Anderfels.   Ameridan honoured Andraste as well as the Creators.   Sadly his sacrifice was forgotten by both the Dalish and Orlais in the subsequent hostilities between our two nations.”

           Sebastian read the paper in wonderment, before handing it back.   Enavir replaced the precious document in his belt, before continuing.  

           “It would be good to continue such an understanding with another devout ruler for the benefit of all. The problem is that we do not have sufficient warriors to spare among the Dalish to make a sizeable enough force to act where it is needed.   So we would like the opportunity to train our city elf brothers as well.”

           “You want to give arms to city elves?” Sebastian sounded doubtful.

           “You suggested as much to me,” said Fenris.   “Do you recall, you thought I should put my fighting prowess to good use in training other people? When I pointed out that humans probably wouldn’t be happy taking orders from an elf, you suggested that I train elves instead.”

           “Did I?” Sebastian looked doubtful.  

           “Oh, yes, I remember it quite clearly.”

           “As do I,” said Hawke.

           “Very well, I did say as much,” he conceded. “However, circumstances have changed since then and I doubt the nobility would take kindly to the news that the elves of the alienage were being taught how to fight even more effectively.”

           He gestured to Hawke.

           “You remember how the elves rose up with the Qunari in Kirkwall and then more recently servants within my own palace conspired against me.   I seem to recall that the Inquisition was implicated too.”

           “All this is true,” said Enavir.   “It is why the Inquisition could not continue.   Yet do not think it is only elves that follow the Qun in secret. In any case, you will know from these affairs that the elves will be armed by your enemies regardless if you give them no reason to remain loyal. Kick a dog enough and it will eventually bite back. What I propose is offering them your trust and receiving their loyalty in return.   People will fight for what they believe in and will fight hardest when they are defending all they hold dear.   Divine Victoria has stated that all are equal in the eyes of the Maker but the nobility are sadly lacking in transforming that teaching into reality.   You could be an example to others.   I understand you led the Chant in Kirkwall; now make it a reality in Starkhaven.”

           Sebastian looked doubtful and pensive.

           “I don’t know.   The nobles here were uneasy as it is, then came the news from the south about an uprising in Halamshiral under Celene when she gave the elves too many concessions.   That led to civil war because her subjects lost confidence in her.   I wouldn’t want Starkhaven thrown into chaos again so soon after what happened to my family.”

           Hawke had warned Enavir that Sebastian was prone to procrastinate and had spent years deciding whether or not to reclaim his family’s seat.   Enavir didn’t have years to wait while Sebastian wrestled with his conscience.

           “The elves under Celene rebelled because a poor merchant was murdered by a noble and no one was brought to account for it.   The Chant of Light clearly says that the strong should protect the weak, not kill them over nothing but in the past there has always been one law for the nobles and another for elves.     Celene put down the rebellion with violence and burned Halamshiral because she was trying to save face.     She had instructed her spymaster, an elf incidentally, to deal with the noble on the quiet but then her rival Gaspard sponsored an allegorical play about the life of Andraste, where the prophet was meant to symbolise Celene and Shartan her elven lover, and she felt burning elves was an appropriate response.   What do you think to that, my lord?”

           “That’s blasphemy.   How could they allow such an insult to the memory of our beloved Andraste?”

           “Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Enavir responded with a wry smile.   “That’s Orlais for you.   They claim to follow the Maker and honour Andraste but they do it for show only, not in their hearts.   Whereas I had been told that the Prince of Starkhaven was a true believer, who didn’t just pay lip service to the Chant but was true to it in the way he lived his life.”

           “I try my best.”

           “Then let me make the Canticle of Shartan a reality.   Elves and humans, united together once more against the evils of the world.”

           “Divine Victoria _has_ restored the Canticle to the Chant,” Sebastian mused. “May be it is a sign from the Maker.”

           Enavir glanced sideways at his companions but kept his face impassive.   Hawke stepped in to help seal matters.

           “Remember how Elthina refused to leave her flock even though she knew her life was in danger?   She did what was right, not what was safe or expedient.”

           “That is true,” agreed Sebastian. “How could I do any less?   Thank you, Hawke, for reminding me where my duty lies.   I serve the Maker not myself.   The Herald of Andraste has my blessing for this venture.”

           Enavir gave a sigh of relief, before continuing.

           “We noticed a ruined building a couple of miles outside town.   Would that be the old Circle of Magi?”

           “Indeed, it was burnt down around the time my family was killed.   The surviving mages were transferred to Kirkwall and it has remained derelict ever since.”

           “If I could have your leave to use it, I could restore it or at least raise another building on the site.   You could do with a mage school in this part of the world and my Fade Hunters would ensure the safety of all.   With you agreement, I would invite some of my old allies from the Inquisition to provide instruction in magic.”

           “That seems agreeable to me, though I haven’t seen many mages since the rebels left for Ferelden.”

           “There were those who remained loyal to the Chantry, who joined the new Circle under Grand Enchanter Vivienne, but Divine Victoria has decreed that those who wish their independence may have it.   Of greater concern to me, though, are the young mages who have come into their power during the period of chaos and have had no one to guide them.   We have already been making efforts to seek them out and provide counsel in Kirkwall but I am reliably informed that the Veil there is extremely thin and not conducive to the safety of the young and inexperienced.”

           “It is safe enough for experienced mages,” explained Hawke, “but there are some very bad vibes in the area, even with Corypheus gone from the Vimmarks.   The Gallows in particular can never be used with safety again but I’ve sensed other parts of the city which make me uneasy.   You remember those writings we found from the Band of Three? Well it seems the Seekers of Truth took an interest in their activities too; in fact one of the Seekers may actually have sponsored them.   She was trying to find out the source of blood magic in the world so it could better be countered and brought to an end permanently.”

           “To that end,” continued Enavir, “she even recruited a Dalish mage to aid in their research.   Apparently his insights were invaluable.   It would seem that it was no coincidence that mages tend to go rogue there so easily or that blood magic is their preferred weapon.   When things have settled down a bit, it might be worth pursuing their studies once more, with the proper safeguards in place.   For the present, I’d recommend only senior mages stay anywhere near the city.”  

           “That means having a refuge elsewhere for young mages and their families,” asserted Hawke. “There have always been closed links between Starkhaven and Kirkwall, so it seemed only right to bring them here, with your leave of course.”

           “Naturally, I am guided by those with greater knowledge of magic than myself.   The ruin is yours if you think you can use it and the valley in which it sits.   The Circle mages used to grow their own food and had a small livestock farm.”

           “Thank you. If you could arrange for a document authorising our endeavours, similar to the one Drakon gave to Ameridan; that would be most helpful.”

           “I’ll arrange for it at once.”

           Sebastian’s writ in hand, they returned to collect their horses and rode in the direction of the nearest inn.   With food and ale in front of them, they planned their next move.

           “We need to strike swiftly in gaining recruits in the alienage,” said Enavir.   “Might be best without you Hawke, we don’t know how they view human nobles here.”

           “We don’t know how they view Dalish, either,” said Fenris dryly.   “Hawke is an elf friend and I’ll not have her side lined.   Besides the human nobles in the city might be a deal happier if they feel the venture is being over seen by the Champion of Kirkwall.   Being the slayer of the Arishok still carries a fair bit of prestige anywhere in the Freemarches.”

           “Point taken.   Still I was hoping you could seek out those contacts of Varric’s on our behalf and get some idea of the cost and time it is going to take to at least get the site habitable.   They might be more amenable to an approach from the Champion than an elf.”

           “You’ve a few titles you can flaunt as well you know.”

           “Sadly they won’t carry as much weight with dwarves as Prince Sebastian, even with Varric’s recommendation, particularly as I no longer have the organisation to back me up. Better they think they are dealing with human nobility until we get the project off the ground.   Then I can surprise them with Comte Lavellan’s true identity when I start paying the bills.”

           “Very well, then I will seek out the dwarves this afternoon, while you visit the alienage.”

           It wasn’t hard finding the alienage; they just kept on walking until they found the poorest, most dilapidated buildings and then followed the main path through it until they came to the Vhenadahl tree.   Enavir surveyed the squalor that surrounded it with the same feelings of revulsion and anger he had in Kirkwall.

           “I’m determined to make a difference to these people.”

           “Very commendable,” nodded Fenris.   “Just don’t be too disappointed if their reaction isn’t everything you hoped it would be.”

           During their exchange their presence had come to the notice of the inhabitants of the alienage, who watched from the perimeter cautiously.   At last an elderly but distinguished looking elf walked forward and raised a hand in greeting.   Enavir bowed in return.

           “Greetings, Hahren.”                                                                                           

           “We want no trouble here.   Take your fancy weapons and be gone.”

           “We are not looking for trouble.   We are here with the blessing of Prince Sebastian.”

           The Hahren frowned.

           “What do we care for his opinion?   He has no concern for us.”

           Fenris intervened.

           “My friend just wished to reassure you that our presence here will not be a provocation to the authorities.   He wants to help you.”

           “Really,” the Hahren smiled cynically.   “The mighty Dalish finally wish to help their poor flat ears.   Feeling guilty about what happened in Halamshiral?”

           “The Dalish of the Freemarches were in no more position to help the elves of Halamshiral than you were,” said Enavir without heat.   “Still, I avenged them when I stood by and let the Empress taste her own medicine.   She sacrificed many elves down the years to keep her position.   It seemed only fitting that I should sacrifice her to allow an elf to occupy her place.”

           The Hahren showed awareness in his face that he had heard of the events at the Winter Palace.   He looked more closely at Enavir.

           “Then you are….”

           “The former Inquisitor Lavellan.   I gave up my position so that I could return to the Freemarches and improve the lot of my people here.”

           “Your people?” The Hahren looked doubtful.   “Look about you, there are no tattooed elves in our ranks.”

           “You don’t need them to be one of my people, just loyal to your friends and the truth, kind to those less fortunate than yourselves and unwilling to submit to injustice.”

           He raised his voice so that all in the square could hear.

           “I know that there are others who may have approached you in the past few years, trying to sway you to their cause and encouraging you to betray your homeland.   It may well have seemed to you that you had nothing to lose in joining their schemes.   I do not judge you.   Having seen how you have been forced to live, I cannot blame you for being seduced by their false promises.   Believe me, though, when I say they are false.   I have not come to make rebellion.   I do not intend overthrowing the lawful authority here or leading you to some make believe elven paradise.   I merely offer you the opportunity to stand tall, to be able to look the human nobles in the eye without fear and demand that they respect you.   If that idea appeals to you, come, talk with us.”   He looked back at the Hahren.   “With your leave, my lord.”

           The Hahren smiled and nodded. “Go ahead.   We’ve heard something of your deeds even here, slayer of the false god; the ancient darkspawn magister that was once imprisoned beneath the Vimmarks.   I know better than to stand in your way.”

           Enavir and Fenris sat themselves down beneath the Vhenadahl tree.   As the day wore on they received a steady stream of elves of both sexes, come to discuss their proposals.   Some were keen to learn the way of the warrior, while others preferred a more auxiliary role.   Enavir assured them that their contribution would be valued either way. The Hahren arranged for refreshments to be brought, so they could continue on into the evening and meet with those who had been away working earlier in the day.  

           When Enavir got up to stretch his legs and walk off his stiffness after so long in one position, a young human woman approached him tentatively. She looked little more than sixteen, slight of build and sweet of face, with long, dark hair and hazel eyes.

           “Those words you spoke.   Do they only apply to elves?”

           “I didn’t think humans would be interested. I’m surprised to see you here.”

           “Elf bloodied,” she explained.   “I have no place in either community.   My mother was tumbled by a human lord for his amusement but he would not acknowledge me as his kin.   I live as I must by selling my body but I hate it.   Would you give me the chance to be something more than a whore?”

           “Gladly,” he answered kindly. “What can you do?”

           “Anything you ask of me, just not….”

           “Agreed.   What is your name?”

           “Lauren.”

           “Welcome to the team, Lauren. Now, tell me, what would you _like_ to do?”

           Lauren’s eyes filled with tears, she fell to her knees grabbed his hand and kissed it.

           “Now I know you spoke true.   Those others you mentioned. They told those they recruited they should stay in the situation they were in until they chose to release them.”

           “Are you talking about qunari agents?”

           “That’s right.   It’s why I wouldn’t follow them if they would have me stay as a whore.  It probably saved my life.   A few months back there were purges in the alienage.   People said it was because of what they tried to do in the palace.”

           “Yes, I know about that.” He sighed. “I cannot judge them too harshly when I have seen how elves are treated.   That’s why I’m here, to give people something else to believe in besides the Qun.”

           “Then let me serve you, my Lord.”

           “I don’t have servants, just friends who work together.”

           “Then let me be your friend, attending to your needs. I’ll be no trouble. Just let me stay by your side.”

           “Very well, you may serve me for now, until you decide what you would like to do.”

           Lauren beamed at him and then hurried away to collect her things, promising to return the next day.

           As the evening wore on, Hawke joined them.   The atmosphere was relaxed and friendly now; Hawke was given a warm welcome and hospitality. Their main business having been concluded, Enavir invited the residents to gather round for a story and recounted the tale of Ameridan.   Then Hawke spoke of her time in the Grey Warden Headquarters in the Anderfels, seeing the arms of Garahel and speaking with an elven mage who had found a diary that had belonged to his sister.   She spoke of his final battle with the arch demon aboard his faithful Griffon, Crookytail.   Finally Fenris reminded them about Shartan and when he reached the part of the tale where Andraste named him her Champion, Enavir drew Glandivalis and held it on high where all could see it.

           When they had finished, Enavir placed shields with the heraldry of the three elven heroes at the base of the Vhenadahl tree as a reminder and an inspiration for the elves to focus on and unite behind.   Shartan, Ameridan and Garahel had all fought against evil in alliance with other races and had been trusted and respected by their allies.   There was no stain on their reputation and thus he could feel confident in encouraging them to be used as role models that both Dalish and City elves could identify with.   The shields had a silver bow and arrow on green for Shartan, a golden griffon on green for Garahel and a leaf mask on green, surrounded by stars for Ameridan.

           The evening finished with an impromptu round of song and dance after which they were invited to spend the night with the Hahren and his family.   Enavir had not felt so encouraged and positive about the future since before the Exalted Council.   For the first time in his life, he found himself praying to the Maker that it would last.

           When he called Dorian for their nightly chat, there was further good news.

           “You will be pleased to know that I swore the last of my slaves to be liberati today.   I now officially do not own any slaves.”

           “Thank you.   You know that means so much to me.”

           “I thought you’d be pleased.   So now you can help me.”

           “Of course, anything you ask.”

           “I’ll hold you to that.   Seriously, though, I offered them paid employment as my servants or, if they wished, to help them start a new life.   A couple of families took me up on this but they don’t want to stay in Tevinter.   I don’t think they have much confidence in my long term survival or their continued freedom with me out of the picture.”

           “Are their concerns justified?”

           “Relax, you know already it’s a risky business being a Magister.   My father was murdered and all that.   Anyway, I’ve agreed to see them safely as far as my holdings in Vyrantium and on to a merchant caravan bound for Hasmal but much as I would love to come south with them, I really can’t spare the time at the moment. They are a bit jittery about continuing on without me.   They’ve heard rumours that slavers are apt to take refugees from Tevinter once they cross over the border; since their papers are only enforceable so long as they stay in Tevinter and border patrols are pretty thin on the ground in that part of the world.   So I wondered if you could arrange for someone to rendezvous with them and see them safe.”

           “No problem at all.   I can offer them safe haven and a job if they wish as well.   It’ll have to be after the Arlathvhen but then just let me know when the caravan is underway and we’ll deal with it.   Then again, I could travel up to Vyrantium with my Fade Hunters and escort them myself from there.”

           There was an awkward pause.   He had thought Dorian would jump at the suggestion. Instead his response was decidedly lukewarm.

           “My servants will be pleased. We’ll discuss it again once the Arlathvhen is over.”

           Enavir bit back a sarcastic response and gave a mental shrug. May be Dorian just didn’t want to get his hopes up.

*******

           The following morning Hawke introduced them to Varric’s dwarven contact.   She had already established that he didn’t care who he was working for so long as they paid the bills and he had Varric’s guarantee on that, so he met with them on the site of the old Circle.   After inspecting the ruins he gave his opinion.

           “You know, they aren’t as derelict as you might think. The outer shell of the tower is pretty much intact; you just need to replace the flooring and roof. That will take a couple of months.   Then you can fit it out with whatever you need.   You’ll need some auxiliary buildings of course.   I suggest starting on those first so you’ve got a base of operations.   I can have a wooden barracks up by the end of the week, together with a cook house, plus a pen for your horses. A stockade wouldn’t go amiss either.”

           “That sounds good to me. Fenris is going to start training recruits here and there may be others from Kirkwall when I send word; it would be good to have somewhere for them to stay outside of the city.”

           “Of course if you know of any elven craftsmen who can assist my men, we’ll get things done even quicker.”

           “We’ve got plenty of willing workers but I’m not sure of their level of skill.   Would you teach them for me?”

           “Apprentices, huh?   Very well, seeing as you’re paying.”

           Enavir and Hawke returned to the alienage where he posted his request for builder apprentices on the noticeboard he had placed by the Vhenadahl tree.   It had been agreed the night before that this would be the best method of communicating his needs, with elves being absent throughout the day and night, particularly those who worked for the nobility or in the local brothels.  

           Hawke and Fenris promised to oversee developments at Starkhaven while Enavir was away attending the Arlathvhen.   Feeling confident and reassured that he had finally made some positive progress in the alienages of the Freemarches, he prepared for his greatest challenge to date, addressing the hahren’al at the gathering of the clans.


	7. Chapter 7

            The Arlathvhen was to be held in the Planascene Forest as the most central point to which all Dalish could travel that was sufficiently uncultivated that they could hope to meet without attracting undue attention from the humans.   The location had been set at the previous gathering ten years ago. With their continued involvement in Wycome, his own clan had decided that only those members who wished to should attend on behalf of the others.   It was a small contingent of the younger members of the clan, mostly hunters, with some senior figures, who passed him a letter from his mother, the Keeper.

            _Aneth Ara, Ma Len,_

_I apologise for leaving you to face the clans without my support but I am feeling my age and besides I cannot spare the time away from my duties in Wycome.   As you have seen, we have made great progress here and I do feel that this is the way of the future for our people.   If Clan Lavellan can make a success of this venture and it continues beyond this current generation, then it will give hope to so many more.   Our council continues to work well together but there are dissident factions in other parts of the city, probably representing former nobles who fled to other cities and have been trying to create suspicion in view of your successes elsewhere.   I think it best not to give them an opening with a prolonged absence.   We had a meeting of our clan and it was agreed that those who wished would attend and represent our interests at the Arlathvhen rather than our entire number._

_Atisha has my full confidence to represent my interests at the Arlathvhen and there is nothing I could report myself that she cannot do so just as well.   No doubt they will condemn me for staying away and some elements even for my stance in refusing to leave the city elves to their fate and having so much contact with humans.   You have discovered of course that there is no reason to continue with such dogma that the humans pollute us with their presence.   All the good things that have occurred to benefit our people since the fall of Arlathan have been done through co-operation with human allies and so I shall continue my efforts in Wycome, with the full support of our clan. Keep true to yourself my son and know my thoughts and my love go with you always._

_Mamae._

            Merrill had travelled north from Kirkwall, having temporarily left the school in the care of her assistants.   She had travelled with a dozen of their city elf recruits, who were bringing his stallions north to live at his Wildervale estate with his broodmares.     He introduced Merrill to the rest of his clan and was relieved to see them welcome her to their ranks.   Atisha in particular made an effort to help her integrate as the two of them had become firm friends in the preceding months.  

            His estate was certainly wild and windswept, a mixture of heathland and small copses of deciduous trees with a rather dilapidated wooden dwelling and farm buildings at its heart.   The city elves didn’t seem too worried by appearances and promised to have improved the state of the place by the time they returned.   Leaving them with sufficient supplies, the clan carried on to the Arlathvhen.

            Some clans came with their whole company, while others just sent their chief representatives, the rest being left to wait in a secure location for them to return.   The gathering was spread over a wide area with the aravels on the perimeter.   The halla were left free to wander where they wished, although clan scouts took it in turns to keep watch for their general safety and that of the gathering.  

            Within the perimeter of the aravels there were areas given over to different activities, from children’s games to contests of skill.   Watching the archers compete with one another, Enavir felt a brief sensation of loss and sadness that he would never again display his skill in that way.   Then he gave a deep sigh of resignation; reminding himself that he must now retrain his abilities.

            On one side of the clearing was a large cooking area, where hearth keepers chatted and supervised the preparation of food for the gathering, while craftsmen compared their creations and haggled over a fair rate of exchange.   Near the centre was a large depression in the ground that formed a natural amphitheatre.   Here the elders of the clans gathered to share news and information.

            Enavir sat quietly through the first day’s proceedings as some of the more distant clans had still to arrive. Initially he barely seemed to have aroused any interest among the participants but as the day wore on he noticed one of two furtive glances in his direction and whispered remarks that seemed likely to be about him. Later, as he walked across the camp to his clan’s sleeping area, there were more open stares as he passed by and he sensed that not all of them were benign.  

            He compared notes with his clan members but there was nothing of significance to report.   There seemed to be no hint of Fen’Harel having been mentioned by the other attendees, so either they were as yet unaware of his return to Thedas or his agents had been instructed not to reveal it. In some ways, he found this reassuring as his revelations would have more impact, although it could also mean it would be harder to convince them of the truth of his assertions.   Nevertheless, he was glad when the moment finally arrived for him to address the company.  

            He was dressed for the occasion in his finest Dalish armour, although he had acquired it in the Temple of Mythal, which seemed to confirm that some of his people must have at least tried to enter that place but had not lived to tell the tale.   He wore Glandivalis in the sheath on his belt but also carried a bundle with two further swords within it: Evanura, the sacred blade of the Dales that had been lost in the final battle with the Orlesian army, and Sulevin, that Dagna had manufactured from the pattern she had drawn up from the pieces he had recovered of the other ancient blade of his people.   He placed this bundle on the ground at his feet. He had also brought his log from his time with the Inquisition, in which he had recorded events he had been involved in, his reflections on them and other questions that had arisen in his mind as a result. He placed this beside him on his seat and waited for the assembled company to fall silent before he began.

            “Greetings, Elvhen Falon, I am Enavir Lavellan. I speak to you today on behalf of clan Lavellan to give you an account of my time spent with the Inquisition and what I have discovered on behalf of the people.”

            “And just why should we give you a hearing, shem _lover_?”

            He scanned the group to see where the voice emanated from.   It was the Keeper from clan Anerion, Merrill’s birth clan.   There was just a touch too much emphasis on lover.

            “What are you implying, Valariel?” Enavir asked without rancour and smiled.

            “Don’t play the innocent,” Valariel got to his feet and gestured to the surrounding elves as he advanced towards him. “We’ve all heard how you’ve polluted yourself in their company and how you betrayed your ancestors in taking a shem to your bed.”

            “Do get your facts right, Valariel,” Enavir said calmly. “Ma sa’lath is not just a simple shem but a Tevinter Magister.”

            A wave of disapproval ran around the multitude of elves in earshot, while Valariel spat on the ground, declaring with venom.

            “Len'alas lath'din.” Which was as near as you could get in elven to saying gutter trash.

            There were several voices raised in agreement with the sentiment and for a short time pandemonium, which made any attempt at a response pointless.   Enavir waited for the noise to subside and sensed an air of expectancy as it did so.   They were awaiting his reaction to the insult and he suspected they were hoping he would rise to the bait.   May be Valariel thought that a crippled elf would be an easy foe?   Enavir smiled inwardly at the idea and for a brief moment was tempted to prove him wrong but recovered himself.   Now was not the time for petty vengeance. Instead he said calmly.

            “Is that how you bid Minaeve farewell when you abandoned her in the wilderness?”

            “What?”

            “You heard me; fifteen years ago, when you abandoned one of our precious children, only eight years old, to fend for herself in the wilds because you had one too many mages.   Oh yes, you got away with it with Merrill because the Sabrae clan was looking for an apprentice for their Keeper, so you never had to reveal how spineless you are. Minaeve was not so lucky.   Was it fear of her magic or fear of Templars?   Either way you left her to die in the wilds, except she didn’t.   She found her way to a human village, where they also might have killed her out of fear of her magic but for a passing Templar.   He rescued her and took her to the nearest Chantry Circle, where she was fed and clothed and raised to honour the Maker instead of her own gods, feeling nothing but gratitude to the shemlen who took her in and shaming us in their eyes each time she recounts her story.” Enavir put as much contempt in his tone as he could.   “So don’t you accuse me of betraying our ancestors, you haven’t the right, and I would not sully myself with your death.”

            He kicked the bundle so it rolled open to reveal the swords, knelt, grabbed the first and plunged it into the earth.

            “Evanura, defender of the Dales, wielded by Lindinarea of the Emerald Knights, last of those who fell in defense of our homeland.”

            He took the second and plunged it into the ground alongside it.

            “Sulevin, also forged for our defense but lost when those who bore it resorted to the sacrifice of innocents in a blood magic ritual. It was shattered and left in a forgotten shrine until I recovered it and used the pieces as a pattern so it could be forged anew.”

            He stood up and drew his sword from its sheath, holding it aloft.

            “Glandivalis, blade of Shartan.   The sword which won us our freedom and our homeland.”        He pointed the sword out horizontally towards the gathering and slowly circled on the spot.

            “Not just these but numerous other relics of our people I have found and recovered in the course of my time leading the Inquisition. They are in safe keeping at my aravel but any of you may claim them if you wish for the benefit of your clan.   Except for Glandivalis.   That I keep for myself.   I think I’ve earned it.”

            He re-sheathed the sword and held himself proudly erect.

            “So, despite having bonded with a shem, are you willing to give me a hearing?”

            Keeper Elindra of the Ralaferin clan stood up.

            “Abelas, lethalan. Please continue.”

            A general murmur of assent now ran around the assembled group and Valariel slunk back to his seat.

            “I was sent to the Conclave at the Shrine of Sacred Ashes by my Keeper.   We heard from some travelers what was taking place and we thought it might be of benefit for us to learn what the Chantry was planning.   I chanced upon a ritual to sacrifice the Divine by an ancient darkspawn Magister called Corypheus. I interrupted this and in so doing, I acquired an ancient elven artefact that fused to my hand and it would seem saved me from the resulting explosion. It also gave me the power to open and close tears in the Veil, among other uses.”  He gestured to his truncated left arm. “As you can see, I no longer possess it, but more of that later.”

            “The anchor gave me a certain status with the humans.   They thought it a sign of the Maker’s imminent return and called me the Herald of Andraste, despite my insistence I was nothing of the sort.   Still this status granted me far more respect than I ever would have enjoyed as a simple Dalish.   Their belief in me only strengthened after my next confrontation with Corypheus, which I survived against the odds.   It was after this that they offered me leadership of the Inquisition.  

            “I had already been told by one of my companions that the anchor and the orb possessed by my enemy were elven.   Corypheus had labelled me a thief for taking the anchor but I saw it rather as being attracted to its rightful owner.   My enemy sent his agents far and wide searching always for elven artefacts.   It seemed he was ever trying to obtain more power and knew that the relics of the elven people would give him this. Naturally I was equally anxious to find them, both to stop him and for the benefit of my own.   I never forgot my people in all the time I was with the Inquisition as others here can attest.”

            “It is true,” said Keeper Hawen. “Enavir came to us near our ancient burial grounds on the plains.   He helped my clan, brought us an amulet worn by the last of the Emerald Knights, discovered the truth about Red Crossing and ensured the shems accepted our peace offering in response to the knowledge.   I allowed one of our clan, Lorenil, to join him because I could see that he was loyal to our people.”

            “He found out the truth about Ameridan,” said Keeper Tamalyn of clan Ghilain. “We had always claimed the last Inquisitor was one of our own but the humans chose to ignore us. Enavir made sure that the truth was known and we could be disregarded no longer.”

            “And yet until I met him in the flesh,” said Enavir, “I had no idea that he was an elf.   The humans I can understand but why do we not give greater prominence to our heroes and speak the names of Shartan and Ameridan with greater pride?”

            “It is something to consider,” agreed Elindra of the Ralaferin clan.   “Two of our children also joined the Inquisition when we heard of the good work that Enavir was doing. Neria and Cillian both speak highly of you and all that you have accomplished during your time as leader.   My predecessor, Gisharel, suffered many insults and condemnation for sharing our lore with human scholars.   I feel he has at last been justified in his stance for has not respect for our people increased through our children’s involvement with this organisation and sharing our culture with them?”

            “And yet we have heard that the Inquisition is no more and its leader stands before us, maimed and lacking it would seem the mark that gave him his status with them,” Valariel felt emboldened to speak again.

            “That is true,” agreed Enavir.   “Thus I come to the strangest part of my story and yet probably the most significant for us all.   Towards the end of the fight against Corypheus I was shown a curious thing: an eluvian.   It was in the possession of Morrigan, the daughter of Flemeth, better known to most of us as Asha’belannar.   She showed me where it led; to a place between worlds, neither Thedas, nor the Fade, which she called the Crossroads.   The whole network was the work of the ancient elves.   She only had control over her eluvian.   For a time part of the network was under the control of an elf, not Dalish, called Briala but that is no longer the case.   Morrigan knew the location of another eluvian and feared that Corypheus sought it too.   So we travelled to intervene and prevent him possessing it. Our journey took us deep into the Arbor Wilds and there we found an ancient Temple of Mythal, which was still occupied.”

            He paused as a murmur of amazement ran around the gathering.

            “Is this really true?” said Elindra.   “Neria and Cillian both claimed as much, although they admitted they had not been with you when you went there.”

            “It is true,” confirmed Enavir.   “These elves had survived from ancient times through the use of Uthenera.   Yet the discovery brought me little joy. When I confronted their leader and asked why they had not sought us out or offered assistance, his reply was that to him we are no more than shadows wearing vallaslin and that we are _not_ his people.   In that one declaration I felt both humiliated and yet ashamed that some of our clans have made the same declaration down the years to our cousins in the slums of the human cities.   Briala told me how empty it made her feel when she got that reaction from clan Virnehn, to whom she went to for assistance.   We are not his people.     They do not look to us to preserve and restore the legacy of the ancient elves.   We are nothing to them.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

            “So what are you saying, lethallan,” Elindra asked gently, “that we shouldn’t try?”

            Enavir gave a deep sigh and shook his head.

            “No, simply that our culture is important to _us_ and we should treasure it as such, without thinking that we are honouring our ancient ancestors in doing so. Also, never again will I treat my city elf brethren with such contempt but nor will I welcome them with open arms simply because they look like me.   We need to consider what being one of us really means.   For me it is a shared culture but also shared values about community and how you coexist with other people, about respecting all life and not harming innocents.  The humans have some fearful stories about us and sadly not entirely without cause.   There are bad humans who are selfish, greedy and without honour but they treat others of their own race no better than the elves, at least those they do not consider of the same social standing.   Yet I have also met and worked with others who I am honoured to call my friends. They are sincere, truthful, kind and compassionate; they would never show contempt for an elf simply because of their race. Are they any less my people because they do not have pointed ears?   Are those Dalish who prey on human travellers, stealing from and murdering people who have done them no harm, any more my people than the human bandits who attack us?”

            “We can all see you feel strongly about this and we have heard of the understanding and acceptance that your clan has won with the people of Wycome,” said Elindra. “Yet I cannot help agreeing with Valariel.   If these people you worked with were so honourable, why are you no longer the leader of the Inquisition?”

            Enavir gave another deep sigh.  

            “It was my choice.   The people I worked with had honour but the leaders of the nations that we helped save did not.   They feared the power that my organisation wielded but in truth, they also feared me and not without cause. I had shown them for what they were; selfish, petty, complacent lords and ladies, ignoring the fate of those they are meant to govern and protect.   On the one hand were the nobles of Ferelden who did not lift a finger to assist the ordinary people, who were suffering from any number of afflictions, and on the other were the nobles of Orlais too wrapped up in their stupid game to even notice what goes on in the world beyond their doors, unless it jumps up and bites them.   As for their precious Chantry, I was repeatedly encouraged to lie about what really occurred with me at the Conclave; it is clear they have no interest in the truth, so it doesn’t surprise me they lied in the past about us and concealed the involvement of elven heroes in assisting their prophet or maintaining her legacy.”

             His voice had become increasingly agitated as he said this so he paused to compose himself.

             “There is sound moral teaching in what they state Andraste heard from the Maker but you wouldn’t know it from the way that those in power, who claim to believe, conduct themselves, both within and outside the Chantry.   It was made clear to me my only options were to reduce the Inquisition in size and place myself under the direction of the Divine or disband it altogether.   Bearing in mind what happened to Ameridan’s Inquisition the last time it was placed under the Chantry, I chose to disband.”

             He looked around the assembled multitude and saw several nods of approval, not that he really needed them but it was good to see all the same.

             “My time was not wasted, though.   I have learned a great deal about the human rulers and the way they work.   So if there are those of you who wish to involve yourself more in the world to advance our status, I can help with this.” He gestured to the book alongside him. “You are welcome to consult my journal of my time with the Inquisition and draw whatever wisdom you can from it.   Those of you who prefer the path of isolation and seclusion, I suggest heading in the direction of the Arbor Wilds. There will be few people there now apart from perhaps the odd scholar.   If you do not harm them, then I doubt any of their superiors will bother you that far south.   The game is plentiful and the Temple of Mythal should provide a good basis for a settlement.”

             “But you said it was already occupied,” said Valariel.

             “Not any more.   Abelas, their leader, intended to depart with what remained of his people and find a new path.   The last time I checked he had done so.”

             “I can confirm that is the case,” a new, calm, gentle voice assured them.   Enavir looked in its direction and saw a dark skinned, fair haired male elf, with the vallaslin of June. “I am Cillian of Clan Ralaferin. I have dedicated my life to learning the path of the Arcane Warrior. Many years I was away from my clan in seclusion at an ancient shrine of the order, until the hole in the sky prompted my return.   I was proud to serve under Enavir and when he disbanded the Inquisition, I travelled south to see the Temple of Mythal for myself. It is an amazing sight and I believe we should try to use it for the good of our people.”

             “And you don’t think the humans will try to stop us?”

             “What use would they have for such a remote location other than for scholarly interest?” said Enavir. “The Chantry has fanned the flames of hatred against us in the past but the latest Divine is kindly disposed towards the elves and for the time being there will be some residual goodwill towards us as a result of my actions. The Avaar have occupied the Frostbacks all this time and no one has ever tried either conquering or converting them because it was too much trouble to do so for very little gain.   So I think the Arbor Wilds should be a pretty safe bet.   Mind you, it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to try and cultivate good relations with the Avaar, for trade if nothing else.   Tell them you are of the tribe of First Thaw of Stonebear Hold, that’s me by the way, and that should do the trick.   They are certainly a lot more honourable than most of the civilised humans.  The human, Fairbanks, who governs the Emerald Graves is also a good sort and I am sure would welcome our presence there. Between the two locations there should be the basis for a new permanent gathering of our people.”

              Again he paused while a few whispered comments passed around the gathering.

              “So, now I come to the last and probably my most significant encounter of them all.   The gods are real.   Our legends speak true, except they were not always gods to the people.   Originally they were simply respected elders and leaders in a time of war, gifted with great magic.   They did teach and guide the elves in the spheres in which they had a particular interest, just as we remember.   However, over time, as their power and status grew, they became proud, arrogant and ever more ambitious, while the other elves started to revere them as divine and petitioned them for help, the origin of our prayers. They cannot answer us because long ago they were shut away by Fen’Harel as punishment for a terrible crime.   Only seven are locked away because the eighth was killed. They murdered Mythal.”

               A collective gasp was raised and many faces looked horror struck.

               “How can you know this?” asked Valariel.   “How can you be sure that they are guilty of the crime?”

               “I admit that I only have Fen’Harel’s word for it. The Dread Wolf was a friend or servant to Mythal.   He wanted vengeance for her death and also feared what further destruction the gods might unleash on the world, so he created the Veil between the waking world and the world of dreams.   In so doing he shattered many of the structures that our ancestors built for they were tied to the magic of the Fade.   Worst of all though was the effect on the elves; it stole our magic from us and our immortality.   It was not the humans who caused us to age and die; it was him.     I know this because I have met him myself, I have spoken with Fen’Harel.”

               The reaction this declaration elicited was monumental.   Many surged to their feet, others fell to their knees.   Some cried with disbelief, others howled with anger and outrage.   Neighbour turned to neighbour with questioning look as though seeking confirmation of what they had just heard.   Through it all Enavir just stood quietly and waited.   After a while, Elindra, the self-appointed spokesperson for the rest, called and waved them to silence, before turning back to Enavir.

               “You heard all this from his own lips?”

               “Indeed. I also travelled the Crossroads for a time and explored some of these ancient ruins. I heard the echo of voices from ancient times that the spirits there have preserved. There is more to the story than Fen’Harel was prepared to admit I’m sure.   I would prefer to have more evidence from different sources before collectively condemning our gods.   The servant to Mythal, Abelas, was the one who first told me she had been murdered.   I have to admit, though, that the other gods were honoured within her Temple, which would be odd if they were responsible for her death.   May be the events followed one another so quickly that very few were aware of what really happened.   The echoes of the voices of that time in the Crossroads seemed to reflect utter bewilderment at what had occurred when the Veil was created.   Abelas also said that the elves destroyed themselves in the chaos of war that followed her death and the imprisonment of the Evanuris.   The humans merely scavenged our ruins and preyed on the remnant who survived the fall, confused and leaderless.” He paused and sighed reflectively, before continuing.

               “Yet it would seem that Mythal didn’t totally die but lived on as a wisp of what she once was, finding a new host sometime after the fall of the Dales.   Morrigan and I performed a ritual at the site of an ancient altar to her that called upon Mythal for assistance and her host answered the call.   The woman we know as Asha’belannar is also Mythal.”

               There was another gasp of shock from the multitude, before Elindra voiced their objection. “But she is human.”

               “Only her outward appearance is human because that is the race of the person whom she possessed; that is but a shell. She is also of great age, a quality bestowed upon her by Mythal.   I cannot say exactly what our ancestors were but I do suspect some ancient link with spirits, which is why cutting us off from the Fade was so detrimental.”

               “So Asha’belannar is what we call an abomination?”

               “That is a human term and not very helpful.   Besides it largely comes from Chantry propaganda and prejudices.   An abomination occurs when a spirit forces itself on the unwilling, which is why it twists their form and shatters their mind. If the host is willing, then they can coexist without the host seeming any different from normal.   The Avaar even encourage this deliberately with their mage children.   The spirit occupies their mind and instructs them in magic, at the same time protecting them from less benign spirits. Then when the child has sufficient experience, the spirit departs willingly. I gather the Rivani seers also allow themselves to be deliberately possessed in order to gain wisdom, without any adverse effects.   It is possible these people learned this skill from the elves.     I think much of our knowledge about dealing with spirits was lost during our time of captivity.   Our fear of spirits may have even been encouraged by the Tevinter mages, so we did not learn a way of challenging them.   We may also have been influenced by the teaching of Andraste.   Ameridan honoured both her and the elven gods, so may be others did the same.   All I know is that the ancient ones seemed to have a great deal of interaction and an affinity with spirits.   May be it was because they were so powerful themselves that they did not fear them or possibly they were related in some way.  Be that as it may, Mythal lives on in the form of Asha’belannar. I assume that is why she has helped us down the years.   I asked why she did not do more for us, for unlike the others, including Fen’Harel, she does consider us her people.   She said I did not know what I asked and I had the feeling that to do more would not have ended in the way we wanted.   She also spoke of wanting vengeance, which seemed to confirm she was murdered, though she did not say by whom.   Still Abelas said it was not the Dread Wolf.   Whilst I only have the word of the trickster that the other Evanuris were guilty, I have to ask myself, who else would have had the power?   From what I have read about her, the real Mythal was immensely powerful, as were all the Evanuris. Fen’Harel admitted he shut them away because he could not be sure he could kill them.”

               There was renewed murmuring among the company, before Valariel spoke.

               “There were others in our legends; there was a war between the gods.”

               “The Forgotten Ones.”   Enavir nodded.   “That thought had occurred to me too. He made no mention of them but I found a writing from one of them and he seemed to have similar sentiments to Fen’Harel about the Evanuris. Our legends say he could walk among both sets of gods and was seen as a friend.   This was not true of the Evanuris.   Their writings warned against him.   So, if it was only the Forgotten Ones who regarded him as an ally, could they have helped him against the Evanuris?   Could they have tricked him about who was responsible for Mythal’s death?  Did he double cross them and shut them away?   When he talks of the Evanuris does he actually mean both the Creators and the Forgotten Ones?”

              “Why did you not ask Mythal?”

              “At the time I met her I did not know these things. In any case, like Fen’Harel, she only seemed willing to tell me so much and no more. She controlled the conversation.   At the time I was too concerned with finding out how to defeat Corypheus, which I thought she could help me with, as indeed she did.”

             “So where is she now?”

             "I have no idea, nor where Fen’Harel is either.   What I do know is that he now has full control over the eluvian network, so there is no longer the option of using that. I lost the anchor as well and thus my ability to walk physically in the Fade; it was starting to behave erratically and if it had not been removed, it would have killed me.

             “However, I know what he plans to do, for he told me that as well.   The anchor that I possessed for a time was part of a set.   The other half was the orb which Corypheus used.   When I destroyed him, I briefly took control of it but the strain upon it in reclosing the breach caused it to break.   The orb belonged to Fen’Harel.   It had built up magical power for centuries and it had been his intention to use it to enter the Fade and the anchor to hold him there, while he tore down the Veil and restored the world of the elves.”

            There was another eruption of noise, followed by the declaration from Valariel:

            “But that would be wonderful.”

            “No it wouldn’t.   Destroying the Veil would plunge our world into a fiery chaos.   Nothing that lives here would survive.   That includes us.”

            “But it would restore our people to what they once were.”

            “It would restore _his_ people, not ours.   Even if we were to survive, it would also free the Evanuris. He claims to have a plan to deal with this but I don’t have a lot of confidence in that.   His plans have a habit of not working out as he intended.”

            “If our gods were to return to us, though?”

            “They would look upon us no differently to humans, dwarves or qunari, assuming of course any of us survived.   The best we could hope for would be slavery once more.”

            “Slavery, what are you saying?”

            “According to Fen’Harel that is what we were under them before and their favoured servants.   In the old times, that was the purpose of vallaslin, to mark us as their property. Of course, I only have his word on that. Abelas had vallaslin and though bound in service to Mythal, he did not act like a slave, more a devoted follower. I also found a text, a warning from the Evanuris against Fen’Harel.   It did sound a lot like how he appeared to me; a humble traveller who knows much about the people, whose words seem fair but slowly turn to poison.   May be our ancient ancestors served them willingly.”

            “Perhaps too willingly,” Merrill spoke up. “I have also met with Asha’Belannar. I had bowed to her out of respect for she had assisted our clan in the past. She asked if I knew who she was beyond her title of Asha’belannar and when I admitted I did not, she said ‘Then rise child, the people are too quick to bow the knee.’   It seemed strange at the time because I was only being polite and she had to know the Dalish do not generally bow to anyone but it is possible she did not refer to our current situation but how the people were in the past.”

            Enavir nodded his thanks to her. “Whatever the truth is about their service, to my mind it is irrelevant to the problem at hand. We are not Fen’Harel’s people and his actions are not done for our sake.”

            “How can you be sure?” argued Valariel. “May be this Abelas sensed the taint of pollution upon you, may be Fen’Harel did too. Just because they didn’t see _you_ as one of their own, doesn’t mean that applies to the rest of us.”

            “This armour that I wear is Dalish craftsmanship at its best.   It was found in the ruins after Abelas and his sentinels left.   It means that some of our people had previously reached that place and were slain by its occupants.   Why weren’t they recognised as kin of these ancient ones?   My mother told me that this place had a reputation of being perilous even when we ruled the Dales.   Those who went exploring in that area never returned and so we shunned it.   They knew of our existence but they chose not to help, even when we were under attack.   That is the contempt with which the ancient ones view us.”

            “These servants of Mythal may have viewed us as outsiders to be shunned but it does not follow that the rest would do so," insisted Valariel.  "If our gods are freed, we shall at last have recompense for all we have suffered.   If Fen’Harel was responsible, then it would seem that he has realised the error of his ways and wants to make amends.”

            Enavir shook his head in exasperation.

            “You cannot turn back the clock and I will take no pleasure in knowing I die in order to gain some second hand vengeance against those who have wronged us in the past.   Fen’Harel doesn’t think he owes us anything.   He does not believe in right and wrong, good and evil, just his purpose.   This whole world is our homeland: the mountains, the forests, the rivers; the creatures that share it with us.   All will be swept away if his plan comes to fruition and I for one will defend my home against him.”

            His words elicited a mixed reception from the gathering. Some nodded and murmured approvingly.   Others seemed more drawn to Valariel and his stance. Enavir saw this with concern and tried one last time to convince them.

            “My chief concern is not that he will succeed but that he will fail and in doing so will drag his supporters down with him.   The backlash against our people will be brutal if that comes to pass.   When the world was afflicted with the Second Blight it is said in the human histories that the Dalish watched and did nothing when the darkspawn attacked Montsimmard.   There may well have been valid reasons why we acted as we did but the fact is that the Chantry subsequently used our inaction to inflame opinion against us. How much worse will it be for us if we are seen to ally with an ancient elvhen power seeking to destroy our world?”

            “Only if we lose,” asserted Valariel. “Your argument sounds defeatist to me, a coward’s words or a traitor’s.”

            “No, a patriot, who cares for his people and wants to protect them from exploitation by the Dread Wolf, who will lead them to destruction either way. He has already swayed some elves from the cities into joining his cause. Just as others have willingly become agents of the Qun because it seems preferable to the life they have.   I have no idea if they know the truth of it. May be they do and no longer care; if you think you have no hope for the future what does it matter if you will die?   We do have a future and it can be a good one but not chasing after the false promises of the ancient trickster of our people.”

             He put as much passion and sincerity into his voice as he could muster.

             “We need to stop living in a past that doesn’t recognise us and instead celebrate our own achievements.   We have survived everything our enemies have thrown at us down to the present and have done so without the help of our gods. We don’t need them to succeed in the future. May be that is why Mythal has not done more, because she wanted us to be self-reliant and independent of the Evanuris, able to fend for ourselves without looking to higher powers for assistance, particularly if she plans on having her revenge on them at some point.   We need to stop trying to impress gods who cannot help us and probably would not even if they could. Nothing we do is going to make any difference to whether they return or not.”

             “Nothing?   Is aiding the plans of the Dread Wolf, nothing?”

             “Not aiding, _serving_ , as the ancient elves did, both the Evanuris and Fen’Harel, before being discarded when they were no longer of use. He has sacrificed his followers before to achieve his aims and abandoned them to their fate. He killed his friend because he thought of _us_ as people. We are not the preservers of ancient Arlathan because those people were subservient, always looking from one powerful being to another for direction.   _We_ are the last of those who made the Long Walk to freedom from the slavery of Tevinter.   _We_ are the elvhen who fought to retain their independence and their culture from Orlesian Imperialism. _We_ are the descendants of those who preferred to die rather than surrender to human rule.   We are the last of the elvhen and _never_ again shall we submit: not to the Chantry, not to the Qun and not to the Evanuris, be they Creators, Forgotten Ones or Fen’Harel.”

             He drew Glandivalis with a flourish and held it aloft.

             “We are the Dalish and we are free. Revas Elvhen.”

             “Revas Elvhen.” One by one they took up the cry, rising to their feet and punching the air with enthusiasm.   It spread from the gathering of elders around the camp until it became a roar of solidarity as every Dalish took up the cry. “Revas Elvhen.”

             In the centre of it all stood Enavir, Glandivalis still held high, his heart racing with exhilaration, his body trembling with emotion, while tears started to well and flow down his cheeks.   He had done it.   He had come to them with the truth, with honesty and sincerity and he had won them over.   Naturally there would still be doubters, those who would prefer to chase after dreams of ancient glory, but if they joined the Dread Wolf they would not trust him and he in turn would not be able to trust them. However, the majority would refuse.   He could see it in their faces and hear it in their voices; he had struck a chord and caused a resurgence of Dalish pride.  

             Whether they chose to watch and wait for developments or opted to join him in actively fighting for their future, they would not be joining Fen’Harel.   That is all that he had hoped to achieve in coming to the Arlathvhen.   Whatever happened after this day, he would be content in knowing he had done all he could to protect his people from the Dread Wolf’s schemes.

            As the swell of noise gradually abated and the elders resumed their seats, he sheathed Glandivalis, bowed to the assembly, turned and sat down between Atisha and Merrill.     A great weariness came over him, now the tension and anxiety over his obligation to make his knowledge known had passed; the heady rush of excitement at their response subsided, leaving him drained. All he wanted to do was rest but he could not leave; his presence might still be required.   He was thankful when Elindra stood up and addressed the company.

            “I think Enavir had given us much to think on and discuss with our clans. Let us call a halt to proceedings for today.”

            The rest of the company voiced their agreement and the gathering dispersed. Enavir returned to his aravel, lay on the bed and removed the crystal from his tunic.

            “Ma sa’lath.”

            “Amatus? The big confrontation, is it over then?”

            “It is over.”

            “And you survived, that is good to hear.   Want to discuss it?”

            “Another time, may be. I’m rather tired but I just needed to hear your voice.”

            “I understand. Just lie back and I’ll amuse you with trivialities.”    

            He relaxed back and closed his eyes, savouring the sound of his lover’s voice until he drifted off into a contented, peaceful sleep.  

**  
**


	8. Chapter 8

            His sleep did not end as peacefully as it began. He ended his rest with a dream, or rather a nightmare.   It was like a vision of what might come to pass if he failed to stop Fen’Harel.   The sky split asunder, from one horizon to another, a hideous green gash from which fireballs spilled out and rained down on the earth.   Everywhere was dark, no sun or moon or stars filled the sky; only the sinister green glow from the Fade as it merged with waking reality.   Out of the land of dreams a dragon appeared, larger and more terrible than any archdemon, screaming its anger and defiance at any who would oppose it.   Enavir jerked awake with a scream and lay with heart racing, bathed in sweat.

            “What’s the matter?” It was Merrill who spoke.   She was sitting in the doorway.

            “A bad dream,” he stared at her curiously. “Have you been there long?”

            “I’ve kept a watch over you since the other hunters left to gather food.   Atisha is still resting; she’s in the early stages of pregnancy, so feeling a little sick.   It was Cillian’s idea.   He seemed to think we should guard you from harm.”

            “He thinks that there are elves who would break the truce of the Arlathvhen?”

            Merrill shrugged. “He’d been walking the camp and heard mutterings; he said it was better to be safe than sorry. Some elves are angry at what you said about the gods; others at the company you keep.   You may have convinced them not to support Fen’Harel but that doesn’t mean they support you or think kindly towards you.”

            No sooner had she said this than a hostile, sinister sounding voice intruded on their conversation.

            “Seth’lin.   Are you in there, Seth’lin?”

            Enavir saw a look of shock and fear on Merrill’s face as she glanced back at the exterior.  

            “Come away, Merrill,” he urged her as he jumped to his feet as started to pull on his armour.   He was still slow in doing this one handed.  

            Merrill backed into the aravel. “There are so many of them.”

            “Leave it to me.   Just help me dress.   Please buckle on this belt.”

            Merrill did as requested and he added an amulet, neither of which he had troubled to wear yesterday but he realised might come in handy now.   Once Glandivalis had been buckled on as well, he walked to the doorway.   His aravel was ringed by warriors, all armed and directly in front was a stocky elf he took to be their leader.   He bore the vallaslin of Elgar’nan.

            “So this is the famous Inquisitor Lavellan,” he said contemptuously. “Fine speech you made yesterday, for a Seth’lin.”

            “His blood is as good as yours,” responded Merrill from behind Enavir.

            “So the outcast defends the Seth’lin.   The Sabrae have told us all about you, blood mage.”

            “Ignore them, Merrill. They’re spoiling for a fight but I’ll not break the peace of the Arlathvhen for an upstart trying to make a name for himself.”

            “Ma Emma Harel, Seth’lin.   You insulted our gods with your lies from the mouth of Fen’Harel.   Why didn’t you slay him?   Why didn’t he slay you?   Because you’re in league with him.   Only an elven’alas would suffer him to speak.   That is what you are.   You sully us with your presence, you who polluted not just your body but you soul when you whored yourself with a Shem. I am, Sareth, and my god, Elgar’nan, demands your blood.”

            “And Mythal refuses him,” Enavir jumped down, took a pace forwards and halted, drew himself up and looked directly into the eyes of his assailant. “Ar'din nuvenin na'din **.** I do not want to kill you but I will if you make me.”

            “Empty words from a Seth’lin.   Now feel the wrath of Elgar’nan.”

            He drew his sword but before Enavir could respond another figure sprang between them, a bright shaft of light glowing in his hand.   It was Cillian, his platinum blond hair glinting in the light of his spirit blade, giving him a faintly unearthly look as though he were a newly arisen elf god.

            “Elven’alas, how dare you break the truce of the Arlathvhen.” His voice was calm but his tone deadly.   “You are without honour and you commit sacrilege in bearing your blade.”

            “He deserves no honour.   It is no sin to bare a blade at a Seth’lin.”           

            “You are the Seth’lin.”

            “Back off, Cillian, I know why you do this.   Let him defend himself if he can.”

            “I’m saving your life, you fool.   Enavir has slain two false gods; an ancient darkspawn magister and Hakkon of the Avaar.   Twelve dragons have fallen before him.   He has survived a confrontation with the Dread Wolf.   What makes you think _you_ can best him?”

            “Put up your swords, both of you.”

            It was Keeper Elindra.   She pushed past the ring of elves.

            “The Arlathvhen is a sacred place.   No matter what rivalries may exist between clans, here we put them aside.   Once the gathering has been joined, it is sacrilege to shed the blood of another.”

            Enavir breathed a sigh of relief.   Sareth glared at Elindra but sheathed his sword. Cillian likewise allowed the spirit blade to dissipate.  

            “Come, Enavir, the elders would speak with you further,” Elindra turned away and walked back through the elves, Enavir following. The elders fell silent as he joined them and he sensed an air of apprehension and wariness in their stares.   As on the previous day, Elindra acted as spokesperson for the others.

            “It is regrettable that you should have been attacked in that way but you must understand that you revelations yesterday have unsettled the clans, particularly your accusations against the gods.   Some suspect you of having been converted to the Chantry and that you are covertly trying to undermine our faith.”

            “I told you I had not, that I had rejected serving the Divine.”

            “There is more than one Chantry in Thedas,” responded Elindra.   “That much we do know.   It was the Imperium that originally enslaved us and forbade us our customs and beliefs.   Are you sure your lover hasn’t influenced you more than you care to admit?”

            “Not at all.   He believes in the Maker in the same way I should imagine Shartan and Ameridan did but he does not serve the Black Divine.   We have been separated because both wished our own people to know the truth of our history.   His task is probably more difficult than mine, since he intends revealing to the proud mages of Tevinter that they didn’t destroy the might of Arlathan, only the ailing ruins of a once great empire that had been ripped apart by civil war.   Their only achievement was as scavengers upon the relics of our people and their confused and leaderless children, using the magic of our blood to make their spells more potent.   That is why they rounded us up.   Not just for a cheap workforce. There were plenty enough human tribes they conquered for that.   They knew our blood was special.   I think that was the real reason they assaulted Arlathan; they feared our mages even in their weakened state and they wanted our blood.”

            “You’re saying our blood made their spells stronger?”

            “The writings of a slave of Corypheus suggested as much.   It is odd but when I found accounts of Tevinter blood mages, they were always using elves.   They made slaves of humans as well and they were stronger and far more numerous than us, yet they ensured our survival rather than just exterminate us.   I think that is because they knew they needed us, because someone had told them so.”

            “Who?”

            “The Forgotten Ones.   I believe that they were imprisoned but not rendered mute like the Creators.   Human accounts talk of the old gods whispering to them from the Fade. I found a record of one of the Forgotten Ones beneath an old Tevinter Temple to Razikale.   That seems too much of a coincidence to me.   The name of the Forgotten One was Gelduran.   He refused to offer reverence to the Creators and denied their divinity, just as Fen’Harel did.   He said their pride would consume them and when it did, he would return to power, striking against them.   I believe that after Fen’Harel silenced the Creators, the Forgotten Ones felt emboldened to try and usurp their power.   They had no success with the People, not then at least, and so they turned their attention to the human dreamers whom they were able to contact in the Fade, giving them the secrets of blood magic and so had their revenge on the worshippers of their enemies.”

            “But the human gods had different names.”

            “Can a god not take any name they wish or their worshippers choose to bestow upon them?   How many gods can there be in the world?   I have met one of those who was named a Forbidden One by Elgar’nan.   He was simply a very powerful demon. The god dragon of the Avaar, Hakkon, was simply a spirit indwelling a dragon, and the knowledge to do that came from that ruin. Like as not the Forgotten Ones could do the same.   Andraste said the arch demons were corrupted old gods and they rose in the form of a dragon.”

            The elders looked from one to another and nodded heads sagely.

            “If what you say is true, it is good that we honour our pledge to the Grey Wardens,” said Elindra.

            “The humans claimed otherwise about the second Blight.   Ameridan told me that we bore no love for Orlais but would that really have stopped us aiding in the fight? Our legends say that some clans assisted but not our nation as a whole.   The humans say we stood and watched as Montsimmard fell to the hordes.   True or not, I recall that there were cults of the Forgotten Ones among the elves of the Dales.   Am I not correct?”

            There were coughs and awkward glances as though it was something those present would rather forget.   Enavir nodded.

            “It is true then.   I wonder when we became aware of this.   How did they come to worship the ancient enemies of the Creators?   If we suppressed their worship, did they continue in secret and influence us unduly in our relations with our human neighbours?”

            “But you just said you think the old gods were the Forgotten Ones and they helped the humans.”

            “Until Andraste and then Hessarian destroyed their worship.   Some had fallen silent, possibly already corrupted underground but who is to say that applies to all.   Would they not wish to work against those who had supplanted their worship and those who had aided them?   What better way than to set us against one another?”

            “You really believe that?”

            “I say it is a possibility.   Ameridan saw nothing wrong in honouring both Andraste and Ghilan’nain.   I do not believe he could have been the only one to feel that way.   I found a bow in the Crossroads.   It was called Dhal Vallasan and made by Tanaleth of Halamshiral.   The text with it said that was made for the Fade Hunters, the Emerald Knights who protected us from maleficarum and demons.   Just as Ameridan and his Inquisition did, although he was a mage.     I’m not saying that Orlais wouldn’t have attacked us anyway but I do wonder if our leaders were manipulated by malign forces into isolating ourselves and generating hostility against us by failing to aid against the Blight.”

            Valariel stood up to speak. “I’m confused.   Yesterday you spoke against the Creators.   You said they kept slaves and they had murdered Mythal.   You suggested we would be better off without them.   Now you’re saying they were victims of a plot by the Forgotten Ones?”

            “All these things may be true.   What I was saying yesterday was that we shouldn’t rush into supporting Fen’Harel because we think it will restore our gods to us.   He never made it clear which gods it would release.   He seemed very unhappy about a plan, by the Grey Wardens, to try and seek out the old gods before the darkspawn reached them.   Why should that bother him?   He claims he never realised just how badly raising the Veil would harm the elves.   Where did he get his idea from and the knowledge to raise the Veil? He wants to restore the world of the ancient elves but that was a realm of Creators _and_ Forgotten Ones.   What if the Creators perished in the Void?   Then all that he would be releasing would be the surviving Forgotten Ones.   He has made enough mistakes in the past, thinking he was helping his people and not foreseeing the consequences of his actions.   I think he is sometimes so single minded in his efforts he is unaware of the possibility of manipulation.”

            “So where does that leave us?”

            “Sareth says I insulted the gods. I apologise if it sounded that way. It is just that I no longer think of them as gods.   I revere the Creators. They were respected elders who taught us how to survive the perils of the world and protected us from danger.   They were once great generals who defended the people and led them against their enemies.   I can understand how they could have become viewed as divine, even without them desiring it at first.   There are times when my followers in the Inquisition seemed more like the faithful of a prophet, even when I denied I was a holy man.   I’ve had a taste of the power of the ancient ones.   I don’t mind admitting there were times when I revelled in the adulation and thrilled at the feel of the power in my hand.   Perhaps it was just as well that it was taken from me before it poisoned my soul.   After countless years enjoying such worship, may be it did make them forget what they once were.   There are pieces left to find in the puzzle of our ancestors but until we do, the Creators still set an example of how we should live our lives.   Keep following our traditions and customs.   They are good ones, except our unqualified hatred of humans for that does not come from the Creators at all.   Just don’t think of them as divine.   Simply honoured ancestors that we should try and emulate in the positive ways we have always believed.   Like the dwarves do with their paragons.   That is how I shall view them. It is up to you what you do.”

            With that said, he bowed to the company, turned and left them to their deliberations.  

            As he walked back across the camp, he saw a shadow move behind him and felt a jolt as the magic of his belt deflected a strike against him. There followed a scream as the intended damage rebounded on his assailant.   He turned to see Sareth clutching himself in pain.

            “You didn’t listen did you?   Do you really think I lost all my power when the Dread Wolf took my hand?”

            He shook his head and sighed at the persistence of false pride and hatred that had made Sareth move against him, before continuing his progress.   When he arrived back at his aravel, Cillian was waiting for him.   He was struck by how tall and grim looking he was compared with himself, yet with a calm demeanour that suggested he was not easily roused to anger.   His voice reflected this, his normal speech being quietly measured.

            “You take too many chances,” Cillian stated unemotionally.

            “You mean Sareth?   I was in no danger.”

            “May be not but one day you will be caught without your trinkets and then …..”

            “I will regret my carelessness.” Enavir gave him a straight stare. “Your concern is touching and I can’t say I’m not grateful for the support both in council and this morning but what is your interest in me?”

            “I served the Inquisition for a time.”

            “As did many others, not all of them as trustworthy as I would have wished.”

            “I have watched over you and protected you.”

            “So did the Dread Wolf.   He had his reasons for keeping me alive but they had little to do with concern for my welfare.   How did you come by your training, Cillian?”

            “Ah, I see the problem.   You heard how I came upon an ancient shrine where the secrets of the Arcane Warriors were kept and you wonder what else might have been there. Who else?”

           “I don’t mean to insult you but after my experience with the Dread Wolf and then the elven agents of both him and the Qun, I find it hard to trust again.”

           “Yet you have taken a blood mage into your confidence.”

           “You mean Merrill?   She is no true blood mage; she isn’t ruthless enough and my beloved has enlightened her as to the dangers of grasping at magic that goes beyond your natural gifts.   She has not used it since her Keeper died and her clan rejected her and I doubt she will again.   She is helping with my work in Kirkwall teaching children the truth of history.   Speaking of which, your armour looks very like that worn by the sentinels.”

           Cillian nodded. “I found it preserved at the shrine.   I believe you have recovered many items in much the same way.   It seems the craft of the ancients retained its magical signature even after the raising of the Veil.” He gestured that Enavir should sit and did so himself. “Very well, to put your mind at ease.   There were spirits at that shrine.   I spoke with them and they helped me understand the murals that covered the walls.   You spoke true when you said we have forgotten so much when it comes to our relationship with the Fade.   We should always be cautious in our dealings with spirits but no more so than with a stranger of this world.”

           “It is not the simple spirits that I am worried about.”

           “You fear I could be an agent of Fen’Harel.   I will admit that when I first left my clan to seek out the shrine, all I could think of was recovering elven glory; not any more. During my time of seclusion and meditation I discovered that such petty ambitions no longer appealed to me.   Your speech yesterday touched me, not just when reminding us of our achievements but also when you said the whole of Thedas was our home. I feel the same way.   I have immersed myself in the skills of this ancient order of the elves and I returned to the world from the shrine so that I could dedicate myself not just to the welfare of the Dalish but the greater good of all Thedosians.   I thought that my efforts on behalf of the Inquisition had helped save the world from evil and destruction but it seems my hopes were premature.   We have unfinished business you and I, fighting the schemes of the Dread Wolf for the benefit of all.”

           Enavir heard the sincerity in his voice and extended his hand.

           “Then I welcome you as my friend, Cillian Rillaferin.”

           Cillian took his hand and clasped it.

           “Now two things I would ask of you. First, the sword Evanura for me to bear in your service.”

           “Absolutely.   And the second?”

           “Josmael tells me you are reviving the order of Emerald Knights known as the Fade Hunters. I wish to be a part of this. They should be a visible reminder wherever they go that not all elves side with the Dread Wolf and we fight on the side of those who have no one else to care for them.”

           “You are welcome to join us.   We have started with the Freemarches, with the intention of gaining acceptance for the Dalish across the area.   The less we have to fear from hostile humans, the more that will free up warriors to join our number.   However, I also wanted to go into the alienages and recruit from there as well.   That will be more difficult because the rulers fear arming the elves.”

           “Yet from what I have heard, those elves have been armed none the less.   Would they rather have them following the Qun?”

           “The Champion of Kirkwall warned the nobles there of the danger but they preferred to ignore it.   However, there is now a Viscount there who takes a more relaxed approach to helping the elves improve their lot.   He has also given his backing to the situation in Wycome.   The nobles in the Freemarches are a paranoid lot but never more so than when viewing the accumulation of power by their rival city states.   In such a case they are likely to want equal representation; at least that is my hope.   I made overtures to Prince Sebastian before the Arlathvhen and persuaded him to allow our presence in training the alienage elves in his city. If we can make a success of there, then I am hopeful the rest will fall into line. After the Arlathvhen I intend to return to Starkhaven to ensure he makes good on that promise.”

           “Good, then I would like to go with you when you do.”

           “Of course, I would be glad of your company but do you not fear the rejection of the clans by throwing in your lot with me?”

           “I wouldn’t have approached you if I did.   I suspect we have both been changed by our time with the Inquisition and that may be no bad thing.   Our people have achieved much over the years but I was beginning to doubt our attitude to progress and new ideas even before your revelations.   Our culture was beginning to stagnate and the clans were already drifting apart with the years.   May be a parting of ways was inevitable.   I honestly feel your clan’s achievements are the way of the future for our people.”

           “I only wish more felt as you do.”

           “Then we should start recruiting among the Dalish straight away, so we have something to show for your efforts.   Leave that to me.   You may be pleasantly surprised.   I have already been having discussions with a number of the younger warriors; they are more open minded about dealing with humans than some of their elders and thankfully not all are hot heads like Sareth.”

           “Don’t forget the mages.   We need a few magic users for a balanced company, plus those skilled at crafting.”

           “Already ahead of you, my friend.   I’ve made it clear around the clans that if they fear the mages in their clan, they should direct the surplus to me, whatever the age.   I presume you can provide for any unwanted children.”

           “Naturally.   I will give them a home in Starkhaven and we will teach them there until they are old enough to follow you.”

           For once the grim face of Cillian broke into a smile.

           “Not all have the discipline to follow me but I appreciate the sentiment. Our people will walk tall once again in the light rather than skulking in the shadows.   We will show Fen’Harel what it is to be a true elf.”       

******

           Enavir activated the crystal that night with mixed emotions.   He had been hoping to announce his imminent arrival in Minrathous now that his business with the Arlathvhen was accomplished but he realised there was so much more he needed to do before he could leave the south on even a short visit to his beloved.

           “I have good news and bad,” he stated.

           “Oh, this sounds ominous.   I’ll take the good.”

           “I survived an assassination attempt today.”

           “That is good to hear.   Mind you, I wouldn’t be hearing anything at all if that weren’t the case, now would I?   Any particular reason for the assault?”

           “Heresy, blasphemy and polluting myself with a Magister.”

           “So someone finally got round to violence over our relationship. Still not regretting it?”

           “What do you think?”

           Dorian gave a laugh.   It was good to hear the sound but made Enavir’s sorrow at prolonging their separation all the more intense.

           “It wasn’t all negative; I’ve got some supporters in the clans.”

           “Excellent, so what’s the bad?”

           “I could be in the south for quite some time. It seems I have a purpose here after all.”

           “I never doubted it, Amatus.”

           Enavir felt Dorian seemed a bit too complacent and even sounded a little relieved at the news.   He decided to make clear his own regret at the decision, in case Dorian thought any different.

           “I miss you.”

           “Naturally.   If it makes you feel any better, it’s lonely without you too. Have a little faith. We will see each other again.   Maker watch over you.”

           “May the Dread Wolf never hear your step.”


	9. Chapter 9

           On the conclusion of the Arlathvhen, he returned to Wildervale with his clan, except for Josmael and Atisha who accompanied Merrill back to Kirkwall, where they were going to gather the recruits and bring them on to Starkhaven.   Some of the clan stayed in Wildervale while the rest continued on with the Fade Hunters to Starkhaven on route to Wycome.    

           When they arrived back at the ruins they found that the dwarf builder had made good progress on the structures.   True to his word he had completed the stockade, corral, cookhouse and barracks for fifty soldiers in short order and was now engaged in working on the structure of the main keep.     The two dozen clan members returning to Wycome stayed with their aravels but the rest of the company made themselves comfortable in the barracks.   Some city elves had been encouraged to train with Fenris within the city but had not yet felt confident to leave the alienage.   The only city elf there at present was Lauren, who looked thrilled when she saw Enavir ride through the gate.

           As the company gathered round and circulated over dinner, Enavir noted there was a degree of tension between Fenris and the mages in the group.   Fenris particularly glared at Cillian and hardly attempted to conceal his distrust, making several pointed remarks about magic.   Cillian’s reserved demeanour didn’t help to ease the tension, nor his reluctance to discuss his craft with Hawke, who had tried her best to break down the barriers between them.   Still he didn’t need them to accept one another, just be supportive enough to work together while they established their new community outside the City.      

           Cillian, though did not appear to be content with that and Enavir noticed him follow Fenris when the latter returned his plate to the cookhouse.   Enavir decided it might be expedient to follow, so he was on hand when Cillian confronted Fenris about his attitude. As Fenris left the cookhouse, Cillian was waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall.

          “So much anger must make for a very uncomfortable existence,” he suggested.

           Fenris halted and glared at him. “I don’t need your lectures, mage.”

           “It was just an observation.   You seem to rely too much of the efforts of Hawke to gain you goodwill.”

           “I don’t ask for the good opinion of you or anyone else.”

           “Perhaps you should.   Hawke is a great lady and I find it sad that she has to keep compensating for your prejudice and lack of manners.”

           “How dare you censure me?   You know nothing of my life.” Fenris started to glow in disconcerting fashion.

           “And you know nothing of mine, yet you judge me.” Cillian turned towards him, his voice still calm, and held his gaze.   “What have I done to offend you?”

           “Your magic offends me.”

           “Ah, I see.   Yet you love a mage.”

           “I love a woman, whom you yourself regard as a great lady.”

           “Nevertheless, is not her magical ability as much a part of what makes her what she is as her personality or her appearance? We are what we are, Fenris. Magic is something we were born with and have to live with.   How we do so, makes us what we are.   Why do you find it so hard to accept that in me?”

           There was a silence as Fenris considered the question.   Enavir was relieved to see the glowing subside.

           “You want to know?   You really want to know?   Okay, I’ll tell you.” Fenris started to pace backwards and forwards in front of them in agitated fashion.   “Hawke never suggested she has a right to rule simply because she is a mage.   In the Dalish your Keepers are always mages, right?   I could never understand it; ex-slaves walked the length of Thedas to escape the Magisters, only to end up being ruled over by mages again. Then I’m told that we were all mages once, so those with magic are closer to being what we once were and that gives them the right to rule.   That always seemed a convenient story to me, to justify the Keepers in their position, but then it turns out it is true.   All the elves once had magic but just like in Tevinter, not all mages were equal.   It makes no difference to me whether you call them servants or slaves, the majority of our ancestors were subject to the whims of tyrant mages.”

           He halted and pointed at Enavir. “His lover, Dorian even suggested that Tevinter probably got a lot of their ideas from Arlathan.   So everything I have suffered probably originated with my own kind.   They may even have learned blood magic from the Evanuris, or their writings at least, so down through the ages the ordinary elves, the ones with little or no magic, have suffered from the actions of mages.     Not only that, but in the Dales the Keepers were the spiritual leaders who encouraged the worship of the Creators in preference to the god who delivered them.   So we lost our homeland because a bunch of priest mages and the alleged nobility who supported them were trying to restore an old belief system in tyrants and you constantly hold it up to us flat ears as something you are proud of.   It makes me sick.”

           “We lost our homeland for many reasons, not just our worship of the Creators,” said Enavir.   “There were those like Ameridan who worshiped both the Maker and the Creators but that was never going to be allowed to last by Drakon and his Chantry.   Even Ameridan acknowledged that.   You act as though we knew they were tyrants to be despised.   What was important to us was recovering a culture that had been stripped from us by years of human domination. Our stories about the Evanuris may have idealised them but the lessons we took from them were good ones.   I bear the vallaslin of Mythal with pride because they do not represent the marks of slavery but a pledge to guard and protect my clan from all who would threaten them. There is nothing false in that; even Fen’Harel acknowledged that Mythal, the mage, cared for and protected her people.   Do you suppose, even without the Creators, that Orlais wouldn’t have eventually moved against us?”

           “I am what I am,” said Cillian.   “I am not a Keeper and I rejected the position of first to follow my own path.   There was a time when I only thought of elven glory and that I was favoured to bring it about through my gift of magic.   Now I think differently.   I no longer think that magic gives me the right to rule and accept that I need to adjust my thinking about the Creators, though that may well place me at odds with the majority of my people.   It is a risk that I took in joining with Enavir.   It is a risk that he took in revealing the truth to them.   Perhaps you should consider what we have endured to be here with you today before you judge us.   I want to make a better future not just for the elves but all people of good will using such natural gifts as I was born with and the training I have followed to improve them.   I will hunt the Dread Wolf as long as I draw breath but I am not ashamed of being a mage.   Can we not at least be civil with one another?”

           Fenris stood for several moments in silent contemplation, before he visibly relaxed and extended his hand to Cillian.

           “I apologise,” he said quietly, with a look to Enavir, “to you both.”

           Cillian took the hand and grasped it firmly. “Truce?”

           Fenris nodded. “Truce.”

           Cillian gave a slight smile and then glanced at Enavir.   “Shall we be going?”

*****

           The following morning the Fade Hunters said they would accompany the clan until they were safely clear of the city environs, as they wanted people to believe there were greater numbers in the party, in case hostile elements were watching their progress.   In their absence, Enavir suggested that Cillian accompany him and Fenris down to the alienage, where he hoped to encourage the new recruits to move up permanently to their settlement. Cillian shook his head and muttered under his breath as he surveyed the buildings that ringed the main square of the alienage.   When Enavir caught his eye, he saw the same shock and disbelief that he had felt on seeing the Kirkwall alienage.  

           “Look well on what we suffered, while you nobles played in the woods,” said Fenris with his usual caustic voice.   “Yet you thought of us with nothing but contempt.”

           “They could have run when we did, they could have left to find us,” said Cillian.

           “May be they didn’t want to.   Has it ever occurred to you they might have been abandoned by your ancestors?     That the nobles left the commoners to their fate while they made good their escape?   How were they meant to find you in the wilderness?   They aren’t allowed any weapon bigger than a knife.   How would they defend themselves while looking for the nearest Dalish clan?   As for Tevinter, there aren’t even Dalish to find.   If a slave wants their freedom there, they have to run and keeping running.   It’s a long way to the southern border and even that doesn’t stop the most determined slave hunters.   Few are as lucky as me.   When the slave hunters came, I had Hawke on my side.”

           “Whatever may have been the case in the past, we’re going to try and do better in the future,” asserted Enavir.

           Fenris called together his recruits.   There were fighting types who had already done some basic fitness training but also a smaller group who had expressed an interest in providing a supporting role.   Cillian agreed to instruct this second group of enthusiasts in herb lore and the making of simple potions.

           It was agreed that afternoon they would take them out on trek into the countryside as they had discovered that many had never ventured beyond the alienage walls, let alone the city. They feared reprisals from the other city dwellers if they saw them leave, particularly if they were armed.   Enavir assured them they had the full support of Prince Sebastian and read out his writ to them.

           Laruen had accompanied them into the alienage and just before lunch reappeared, accompanied by two more former brothel workers, one elf blooded male and the other a full human female.   They both expressed an interest in becoming healers, explaining that their training in massaging for pleasure would be invaluable in easing tired muscles.   Enavir suggested they demonstrate on him and had to agree that they eased a lot of the tension out of his body.   He agreed to take them on and added them to Cillian’s group of auxiliaries.  

           Lauren had expressed a wish to learn how to care for the horses as well as learning to ride.   She seemed thrilled when he suggested she might have her first lesson that afternoon when they accompanied the others out of the city.   It quickly became apparent that she was a natural rider, with good balance and an instinctive gift for communicating with the horse with simply a touch or shift of her weight.   Enavir told her about the breeding operation for the horses that he had established in the Wildervale and suggested Lauren might be just the person to oversee the enterprise.   At first her eyes shone with enthusiasm but when she discovered he would not be there much of the time, her face fell.

           “What’s the matter now?”

           “Are you sending me away?”

           “No, but I said you should only serve me until you found something else you wanted to do.”

           “I’ll look after your horse and those of your other friends when you go travelling but I only want to stay with you.   I’ll feel safer that way.”

           “What are you afraid of?”

           “Everyone; except you.”

           “Everyone?”

           “The powerful ones, not the low born ones like me. You don’t know what it’s like being an elf blooded orphan.   You don’t really belong anywhere.   Because my mother didn’t object to the noble bedding her, she was rejected by her family so she had no choice but to serve in the brothel or we’d both have starved.   After she died I had nowhere else to go.   I was only twelve but some men like that; having little girls.   They auctioned me off to the highest bidder and he was able to use me as he wished.   They’ve been using me ever since.   I’m good for business because I look younger than I am.   Ellanor, the human I brought with me this morning, warned me that the brothel owner will come looking for us but particularly me, because I’m worth so much to him.”

           “Just let him try.   Very well, you can stay with me; at least until he gets the message that you are no longer beholden to him.”

           That evening, shortly after he had finished speaking with Dorian and was settling down to sleep, he felt a body slip in beside him.   It was Lauren.

           “What are you doing?   That’s not how I want you to serve me.”

           “You miss him.   I thought I might help you feel less lonely.”

           “Not that way.” His tone became accusatory. “You eaves dropped my conversation?”

           “Only at the end.   I was on my way to see you anyway and I couldn’t help overhearing.   He sounds nice.   Do you love him?”

           “Yes, very much so, he is my soul mate.”

           “That’s probably why I feel safe around you.   You don’t think of me the way other men do.   So there wouldn’t be any harm in letting me stay.   I often share my bed with other whores, especially in the winter as it helps us stay warm.”

           “Just for tonight; tomorrow I get you another blanket.”

           Lauren laughed; it was a musical laugh and good to hear.   “Okay then.”

*****

           Lauren was tougher than she first appeared.   She started joining in with the training sessions and the agility she showed on the back of a horse was equally apparent on the ground.   Anierin, a city elf from Kirkwall, started training her as a knife fighter and she was a quick learner.   It occurred to Enavir that having such a devoted admirer watching his back might not be such a bad thing, particularly as her human appearance allowed her to escape the notice that a full blooded elf might attract.   This allowed her to eaves drop conversations in the market place, which proved useful in discovering how the population generally was reacting to the developments in the alienage.   Thus it was that Enavir was given timely warning of trouble brewing.   It started among the nobility and spread from there to the merchant classes but the chief malcontent was the Reverend Mother in charge of the local Chantry.   Lauren heard that Mother Rosamund was intending making a speech the next time Prince Sebastian visited the Chantry, which conveniently would be on the same day as Enavir expected more of their troops to arrive from Kirkwall.   He guessed the timing wasn’t by chance and planned to attend the service himself.

           The night before the service he sat on the steps of his aravel reading through the copy of the Chant he had been given by Divine Victoria looking for inspiration as to how to counter her criticism.

            “You look very studious and troubled.”  It was Cillian. “You could plant corn in those furrows in your brow.”

           “I don’t have the same influence as I used to.   The majority of people in Starkhaven have no idea who I am.”

           “You could remind them.”

           “I’ve put being Inquisitor behind me and besides it didn’t cut much ice with the other Freemarchers.   Prince Sebastian only listened because I had Hawke with me.”

           “What about the Herald of Andraste?” Cillian gave an impish grin.

           “That would be hypocritical, I always objected to that title.”

           “It seems to me you should use what would most impress them.   You will be in the Chantry after all, so I imagine they must be believers.   Still why not take a title of your own choosing, even more significant?”

           “What?”

           “The _Champion_ of Andraste.   You have the sword after all.”

           “Are you serious?”

           “Utterly serious.   The Canticle of Shartan is _our_ heritage.   The Chantry removed it to make it seem as though there was no debt of gratitude to the elves or even that we were involved with Andraste.   I took a look at that book you’re reading on the way back through the Wildervale.   The scholars are trying to maintain now that Shartan never really existed.   So what the Divine gave with one hand, they take back with another.”

           “He did exist.   Raven, the Hero of Ferelden, even met his shade.   Her cousin let me see a copy of her journal when I was in Denerim.” He took Glandivalis from its sheath.   “This is his sword.   Andraste gave it to him. How dare they say he didn’t really exist?”

           “All the more reason to remind them,” asserted Cillian.   He looked thoughtful.   “Did that journal of Raven’s state if he said anything to her?”

           “Yes, apparently he confirmed that it was his dream that his people would have a homeland of their own.”

           “So that wasn’t an afterthought by Maferath and Andraste would have known his ambition for his people.”

           “Then he said ‘She was betrayed and so were we’.”

           “So clearly Shartan thought the actions of Orlais were a betrayal.”

           “And she was betrayed by her husband.”

           “What if that wasn’t what he meant?   What if he meant that the same person betrayed both of them?”

           “What do you mean?”

           “Drakon founded the Chantry.   He claimed he was commissioned to do so by Andraste but what if he weren’t?   Then he would have no authority at all to speak on behalf of the Maker and neither would they.   Everything people believe about the Maker has been influenced by them.     You said that Ameridan believed in both the Maker and the Creators.   It was the Chantry that said that was wrong.   Well may be our people were right to defy the Chantry.     I’d say you are a more faithful representative of Andraste and Shartan than any of those Chantry clerics.     She was an elf friend.   Remind them of it.”

           The following morning there was a deal of argument with Cillian over who should accompany him.   Cillian didn’t like the idea of Enavir going alone and thought he at least should be there.

           “To do what, hex the entire congregation?   That would really endear us.”

           “Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that but I don’t like the idea of you going there without some backup.   They burned Shartan along with Andraste remember.”

           “I’m not looking to be a martyr.”

           “No one does but you may become one just the same.   We cannot risk losing you at this point when things are going so well.   You don’t realise how much your reputation goes before you.”

           “Not enough if would seem if Mother Rosamund is anything to go by.”

           “Please let me go with you.”

           “Look friend, not to put too fine a point on it, but you do look fearsome.   We are trying to allay their fears not increase them.”

           “Then take Hawke.”

           “I don’t want it to appear a threat.   I am going to challenge their faith but not with force of arms.”

           “What then?”

           Enavir grinned. “Their own holy book, just as you suggested.   Wish me luck.”

           As he turned to leave, Lauren stepped forward and whispered to Cillian.

           “Don’t worry, he won’t be alone.”

           The word had clearly gone out what Mother Rosamund was planning to do and the Chantry was packed.   The city nobility occupied the positions of honour in a series of rows in front of the pulpit, with the merchant class further back and the lower orders standing in the side aisles.     Prince Sebastian was in a central throne reserved for his use.  

           Enavir kept his hood up to conceal his appearance and this allowed him to mingle with the peasants and work his way through their ranks until he was nearly opposite where Sebastian sat.   Lauren followed behind, his faithful shadow. Arms were not permitted to be worn in Chantry precincts but Hawke had warned him that people were rarely searched and so arms did find their way in.   Not wishing to be caught violating their rules, he had not buckled his sword belt but instead carried Glandivalis wrapped in a cloth under his cloak.     He trusted to his belt of protection and his amulet of deflection to keep him safe against any immediate threats.

           Mother Rosamund waited while the choir chanted the daily office and prayers were said for the faithful.   Then she walked to the pulpit and one by one the congregation fell silent.   An expectant hush could be felt through the gathering.

           “There has been much turmoil throughout Thedas in recent years. Leaving aside the Blight which is a rare and exceptional event, I can safely say the troubles of the Freemarches began with the murder of the majority of our beloved royal family, the Vaels.   It is only through the foresight of blessed Elthina that our noble Prince Sebastian survived.”

           The silence was briefly broken by murmurs of approval at her words.

           “Sadly our beloved Grand Cleric was slain by the treachery of mages.   Having been given the protection of our sister city after the destruction of our own Circle tower, the mages repaid her benevolence with violence.   Then the Circles across Thedas rebelled and it is my understanding that when Ferelden offered these rebels sanctuary, they were repaid by the mages joining with the forces of Tevinter, who were attempting to take over the south.   Is it any wonder then that we saw no need to rebuild the Circle here?   Yet in these last few days, disturbing news has reached my ears that this is exactly what has been proposed and with the approval of our Prince.   I can scarcely believe this possible.”

           She paused to see if this would elicit a response but Prince Sebastian remained immobile in quiet dignity.

           “This is not the limit of the folly, though.   It appears that the elves of our city are being armed and trained in warfare.   For what purpose?   Can anything justify giving arms to those who have proven so treacherous in the past.   They lost their homeland when they attacked our faith.   More recently they assisted the Qunari in Kirkwall, rebelled in Orlais and then conspired to assassinate our beloved Prince.   It is madness to arm them. Why have you done this, my lord, why?”

           The murmurs of discontent increased again and Enavir took the opportunity of the break in her flow of words to walk forward and remove his hood. There were gasps from the congregation as they saw his ears and a woman screamed.

           “I think I can answer your question,” he said with calm authority.   “He did so at the request of the Champion of Andraste.”

           “That title was repudiated by the Chantry and those who followed you as heretics.”

           “I speak not of the title of Herald, since that was plainly in error as I always maintained, but I still upheld the teaching of Andraste.   Divine Victoria has since endorsed my actions and those who supported me.   You stand here in safety today because an elf defended your freedoms.”

           He removed the cloth from the scabbard containing Glandivalis and held it aloft for all to see.

           “Behold the sword, Glandivalis, that Andraste gave to her Champion, Shartan.   It was lost during the great betrayal when Shartan fell defending our lady. Lately it has been restored to me that I may take up the fight once again that Andraste laid upon him.”

           He turned and handed the sword to Lauren, took a book from his pocket and let it fall open where he had marked it.

           “ _The host of the Lady began to falter. The Legion turned spear and sword, fire and ice upon them, and the warriors of the Prophet were scattered, divided from their commanders, divided by magic, penned like cattle for slaughter.   Shartan saw that walls of ice surrounded Andraste and her warriors, and he rallied the People.   And with arrows aflame, the walls of magic melted and the Prophet and her warriors were free…”_

“That is heresy, you speak heresy,” screamed Mother Rosamund.

           “No, indeed, for Divine Victoria has restored it to the Chant.   Shall I continue?”

           “Please do,” said Prince Sebastian.

           “ _And the Prophet stood beside Shartan and shouted to her host: ‘Behold our Champion!’ And gave to him the blade of her own mother from her own scabbard, Glandivalis, saying: ‘Take this my Champion, and free our people forever’. And the Prophet and the People struck down the mages of the legion and claimed the field together.”_

He closed the book and allowed his gaze to move around the assembled company, before throwing back his cloak to reveal his maimed arm for all to see.

           “I had thought my work was done in defeating Corypheus but the Maker knows evil is not defeated so easily.   It lingers ever in the shadows, seeking to deny us our freedoms and even our very existence.   I lost my mark and my arm in confronting such a power but I was preserved to continue the fight and received the sword of Shartan to aid me in my quest.   However, I cannot do this alone and have called upon my People to help me, just as they did Shartan.   Would you deny me this?   Would you prevent my efforts in saving our world from this new threat; one that could destroy us all?”

           There were general murmurs and then shouts of denial.   He turned back to the cleric and recovered his arm with his cloak.

           “Ask anyone who served with me; I upheld the teaching of Andraste more faithfully than those who claimed greater allegiance.   The elves of Halamshiral rebelled because a noble murdered an honest elven merchant and was not called to account for his actions.   That was contrary to the Chant.   The Chevaliers of Orlais train their recruits by setting them loose in the alienage to hunt elves.   That is contrary to the Chant.   The nobility of the Orlais think nothing of sacrificing the lives of innocent servants to advance their own status in society.   That is contrary to the chant. The elves of Kirkwall sided with the Qunari because the Viscount had failed to give justice to an elven girl who was raped by one of his soldiers.   That was contrary to the Chant.

           “I witnessed a Templar punch a defenceless cleric in Val Royeaux in order to silence her.   Their order was so corrupted by the influence of a demon that it could not continue.   The nobles of Ferelden did nothing to aid their people when they were suffering in the chaos.   The nobles of Orlais were too busy fighting each other to see the traitor in their midst.   The Duke of Wycome was in league with the Venatori and tried to poison his own people at their bidding, yet nearly succeeded in laying the blame on the elves in his city.   It was thanks to the actions of _my_ clan that this was plot was foiled, yet I had to send soldiers to prevent them being massacred.  

           “It is time you realised that we elves are not your enemy.   There are still Venatori out there in the shadows.   The Qunari still aspire to conquer our nations.   There are ancient powers arising that seek to destroy our world. We need a new order to protect the innocent and defenceless from those that would threaten them.   That is what I am trying to establish here in Starkhaven, with the support of the new Viscount of Kirkwall and the City Council of Wycome, a united force of free people against the powers of evil.   Is that not something that the Chantry can support?”

           Mother Rosamund simply stood dumbfounded, unable to utter anything either in confirmation or denial, so Enavir turned back to the assembled multitude, took the scabbard of Glandivalis back from Lauren and held it aloft once more.

           “Good people of Starkhaven, does the Champion of Andraste have your support?”

           “Aye,” yelled a voice, then another and another, until it ran like a wave around the Chantry.  

           Enavir turned towards Sebastian, placed his arm with the sword across his chest and gave him a brief inclination of his head before striding out through the cheering throng.   On reaching the exterior he was hailed by a familiar voice.

           “Greetings Champion of Andraste,” the voice sounded amused and a little mocking.   It was Charade, Hawke’s cousin to whom he had previously been introduced whilst he was in Kirkwall.

           “Hail and well met, Charade.   You see I have made good use of your cousin’s gift.”

           “Indeed and it should hold them for a while.   You might try Tantervale next.   They pride themselves on their piety. Mind you, they might be offended that you didn’t go to them first.”

           “Pious Andrastrians are probably best avoided.”

           “Well I certainly try to,” she grinned.  

           “So what brings you to Starkhaven?”

           “You do of course.   Hawke told me you were down at the Chantry causing a stir, so I couldn’t resist having a ring side seat.   Still that’s not the reason for my visit.” She presented him with a long wooden box and a letter.   “A gift from mutual friends. You may want to open it somewhere a bit less public.”

           “Let’s go to the alienage then.” He indicated Lauren.   “This is my friend, Lauren.   Lauren this is Charade, cousin to Hawke and another friend.”

           “Pleased to meet you,” said Charade.   “Any friend of Enavir’s is a friend of mine.   He has a lot of colourful friends.”

           Cillian greeted him with a smile of relief when they got back to the alienage and joined their group as he opened the letter.   He saw a familiar script and style of writing, decorated with various sketches, some obscene.

           “ _Your worshipfulness in need of an arse scratcher._

_Red in T tells me you’re off being elfy. Hope it’s not permanent. Still I’ll forgive the odd lapse considering you like cookies.   Widdle has been busy trying to remedy your lack and has come up with the enclosed.   We trust you find it helpful.   Raise a glass to us if you do. Don’t forget your friends._

_With profound disrespect of your awesomeness,_

_Your Friend in VR”_

           Enavir smiled as he read the note.   Sera never changed.   He turned his attention to the box.   On lifting the lid he was confronted by a silverite arm, crafted to fit on the end of his stump with padding to prevent chaffing.   The hand was jointed, each finger mimicking those of flesh and blood. It was spring loaded so they would contract on contact with an object and grasp it, with a button at the wrist, which when pressed caused the fingers to release.   He stared open mouthed at it for several seconds, unable to believe what he was seeing, when Charade broke his reverie.

           “Well are you going to try it out or what?”

           “Yes,” he stammered, his heart hammering as he dreaded finding it not being what he hoped. “Help me fit it.”

           Lauren helped him to hold it in place, while Charade fastened the soft leather straps that attached it to his arm and shoulder.   Then they stood back while he moved his upper arm and the silver arm mimicked its progress as though it were his own limb.   He looked at them both in speechless wonder, still scarcely daring to believe what Dagna had achieved in crafting for him.   Charade offered him a bow and quiver.

           “Go ahead, see if it works.”

           He took the bow and placed it in the metal hand. It clasped the handhold perfectly.   Taking an arrow from the quiver, he fitted it to the bow and raised it to eye level, aimed at a hitching post across the square and fired.   The bow jerked a little as he released the string and the arrow flew wide.   He tried another, compensating for the movement in how he aimed the bow. It just missed so he tried again. This time the arrow flew true. It struck home exactly where he had intended.   She had done it.   Dagna had given him his bow back.   He lowered the bow and shut his eyes against the tears, his body shaking with emotion but in the end he could withstand it no more, retreated behind the Vhanadahl and wept openly, great sobs rending the silence.   His companions waited in silent sympathy.   At length he grew calm once more, came back into view and smiled his gratitude to Charade.

           “I thought I’d never be able to use my bow again.  It was like I’d lost a part of myself.   Thank you for bringing this to me.   I don’t know how I’m ever going to replay them for this kindness.”

           “Never forget your friends; that’s all we have ever asked of you.”

           “I won’t. You can count on that.”

           Cillian examined the arm more closely, clear wonderment on his face.

           “The person who made this has great skill at crafting.”

           “Dagna, a dwarf of the smith caste, but also an expert in enchantment and an arcanist.   She researches magic and seems fascinated by it, even though she has the typical dwarven inability to actually use it herself.   Did you never see her in Skyhold?”

           “I didn’t socialise much but I recall seeing a dwarf with that mouthy elf and someone mentioned she was always busy in your Undercroft. It is a pity you couldn’t have brought her with you. Others could learn so much.”

           “I could invite her to join us once we are up and running properly.”

           “Sera might have something to say about that,” Charade warned them ruefully.

           “Not permanently; just a few months training people.   Mind you Sera might welcome a change of scenery.”

           “Not here. Too many friends already,” Charade winked. “Speaking of which, it’s time I was off.”

           She sauntered out of the square, whistling a tune.

           “We should be getting up to our fortress too,” said Cillian.   “The others will be arriving soon.   Fenris took our recruits on up to greet them but I didn’t want to leave until I knew you were safe.”

           “Oh yea of little faith,” Enavir teased.

           “I had some faith until you turned up at the Arlathvhen,” Cillian retorted dryly. “Now I only believe in you.”

           “That’s what I meant,” Enavir grinned.

           “Smart arse,” Cillian’s mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile.   “Come on.”


	10. Chapter 10

           They arrived at the compound just as the first of the wagons from Kirkwall came into sight.   The Fade Hunters had already come out to greet them forming up at the gate.   They gave an enthusiastic greeting when they saw Enavir and Cillian, which was echoed by the city elf recruits from within the compound; the two companions rode through the gate and up to the barracks amid cheers and whistles.   When Enavir turned his horse and held up his metal hand in greeting, the response was a roar of approval and the Dalish began to chant.

           “Suledin, enasal, suledin, enasal.”

           “What are they saying,” asked Lauren, moving her horse close to his so she could be heard above the noise.

           “Literally, the strength to withstand loss and to have done so successfully. It’s their way of expressing joy at seeing my arm restored to me.”

           “It’s more than that,” said Cillian.   “You are undefeated.   What was lost has been restored stronger than ever. You have given us all hope for the future.”

           For a second his own exhilaration was tempered with a sense of unease.   He made a point of dismounting and greeting each of the newly arrived elves individually; then returned to Cillian, still troubled and voiced his misgivings to him.

           “Should I be doing this?”

           “What do you mean?”

           “Being such a figurehead, it makes me uneasy.   That’s how it started before.   Ultimately they all turned against me.   I want this to last, not fall apart.”

           “The elves won’t turn against you. You’ve given them hope like we haven’t known in eight hundred years.”

           “May be I shouldn’t have made the claims I did in the Chantry.   That Reverend Mother will watch our every move now, looking for an excuse to undermine us.”

           “That didn’t seem to trouble you last night.   You were looking for a way to undermine _her._ ”

           “And you gave me it.”   He looked Cillian in the eye. “Those things you said, do you really believe them?”

           “I do.”

            “So you believe in the Maker?”

            “Not in the Maker of the Chantry.   I am still trying to make sense of what I do believe. I suspect the same is true of you.” He gave Enavir a warm smile.   “Perhaps, my friend, we shall find the truth together.   It is good to have doubts, that will keep you grounded but don’t let that stop you.   I’m pretty sure that if there is a divine force out there watching over us, he’d approve of you.”

           “Thank you.” He gave a sigh. “I’m not as confident as I try to pretend.”

           “Who is?   Now I think a speech of welcome might be in order, don’t you?”

           Enavir nodded and walked over to a raised platform that they had built for that purpose. When they saw him, the rest of the company started to gather round. Once they were all assembled he took a deep breath and began.

           “Greetings, my friends, this community is not just for elves but for anyone who holds to the same ideals as we strive for. We do not choose our race, or abilities or station in life that we are born to but we can choose what use we make of them.   That is why we are here today.   At least I hope that is why you are here; because you have chosen to support me in what I am trying to do.   I want us to put aside our old prejudices and work for a better future for everyone.   At the same time I hope this will allow us to restore our own self-esteem and the respect other people hold for us. It won’t be easy and no doubt we will still have much to overcome but we have made the first step.”

           He pointed to the flag that had been hoisted alongside their gate.   A silver bow and sprig of leaves on a field of green.  

           “From this day forth we shall be known as Clan Revassan, the arrow of freedom.   Yet you will see no arrow on our arms.   It is an empty bow with an olive branch, the symbol of peace and unity, because that is what we are striving for.   The arrow has been loosed and it does not simply break the chains of servitude to mortal overlords but also it strikes at the slavery of hatred, fear and despair, for the greatest enemies to our freedom are the demons of our own heart.   We must always examine our own motives and actions for corruption before blaming others for the misfortunes of the world.   We must never use our strength and success to oppress and subjugate others.  

           “The moto of our clan will be to protect, defend and inspire, following the example of our heroes of old, Shartan, Ameridan and Garahel.   Our aim should be to protect the innocent, defend our freedom and inspire our communities to build a better world for us all.     If you do not share this vision, then leave now and I will not hold it against you but if you believe in it, then join me now in pledging yourself to this cause.”

           He dropped to one knee, placed his right arm across his chest and bowed his head.   All those assembled did the same.

           “I vow to protect the innocent, defend our freedom and be an inspiration to build a better world.   I will endeavour to show mercy and forgiveness rather than vengeance and condemnation.   I will not abuse the trust that has been placed in me either through my own actions or ignoring the suffering of others.   I will never submit to tyranny even at the cost of my own life.   This do I swear.”

           They all repeated the words, line by line, and finished with the collective.

           “This do I swear.”

           Enavir stood up again. “Well that’s the serious bit over with. Now relax and enjoy yourselves; spend the rest of the day getting to know one another.   This evening we’ll have a bit of a party.”

           As he left the platform, Cillian joined him with a quizzical look.

           “Do you think they’ll keep to their vows?”

           “I don’t know if I will.   I think you’d have to be perfect to do so.   That’s not the point. It’s stating a commitment to try and stick to these ideals even if we do fall short on occasion in reality.   I’m sorry if making you swear made you feel uncomfortable.”

           “I didn’t.”

           Enavir stopped and looked at him.

           “Swear or feel uncomfortable?”

           “What do you think?”   Cillian gave his twisted smile.   “Oh look, here comes Hawke and with some more friends.”

           Hawke was walking up from the gate with a party of humans; a tall, fair haired man, a dark haired women and a group of six youngsters of both sexes in early adolescence.   Fenris stalked up and joined them; Enavir noticed the man give an uneasy glance in his direction.

           “Allow me to introduce Gaspard du Puis, his wife Genevieve and the young mages that they have been mentoring these last few years.”

           “Greetings and warm welcome to you all.”

           “You wouldn’t say that if you knew his history,” said Fenris.

           “Fenris,” warned Hawke.

           “It’s all right, Hawke,” Gaspard said quietly, his accent Orlesian.   “Fenris is quite correct.   My past actions were reprehensible and I hardly merited the forgiveness that Hawke showed me.   I was a blood mage and was a long time apprentice of a man who combined blood magic with necromancy in a most hideous way.   Hawke’s mother was one of his victims.” He looked self-conscious and gave a visible shudder.  

           “After Hawke spared my life, I renounced my magic and went on pilgrimage to the Shrine of Sacred Ashes.   I spent many years there helping pilgrims, until I heard about the civil war in my homeland.   Concerned for my relatives, I was on my way to their home, when I chanced upon Genevieve’s farm on the edge of the Dales.   The war spread and we were forced to flee. After many months wandering eastwards across Ferelden, I suggested we travel to the Freemarches but fearing recognition in Kirkwall, we came to Starkhaven.”

           “I am a mage too,” said Genevieve. “Formerly of the Circle in Montsimmard, when it was dissolved, I returned home rather than join the rebellion.   I found my parents had died in my absence but I continued to help the villagers, as I had done before I was forced to leave.   I am a spirit healer and whilst I would happily offer my services for nothing, my gift has proved helpful in providing us with a living from those able to pay.   I was also able to help these young people when they came into their powers and provide guidance in how to keep themselves and others safe from harm.   We were in the congregation this morning and heard your speech to the Reverend Mother.”

           “It seemed that you might have a use for us if you will have us,” said Gaspard.   “Even if you do not wish our aid, would you at least take these youngsters under your care?   They come from poor families and life is tricky in the slums, which isn’t conducive to the settled sort of mind that a mage needs. People there still have a great suspicion of magic.”

           “What do you think, Cillian?”

           “I think we can make use of you all.   Come, I’ll show you your quarters.”

           “You’ll regret it,” muttered Fenris as they moved out of earshot. “Once a blood mage, always a blood mage.”

           “A bit like the only good Magister is a dead Magister?” Enavir raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Did my little speech fall on deaf ears?”

           “No, he’s still alive isn’t he?”

           “Meaning?”

           “Believe it or not, personal growth,” said Hawke.   “Gaspard was looking so edgy because last time he saw us, Fenris would have torn out his heart if I hadn’t prevented it.”

           “I’m probably the reason why he avoided Kirkwall,” Fenris gave a wicked grin. “I still hold to the truism about Magisters.   Your love is a sheep is wolf’s clothing.   He may be outwardly a Magister but from the notes we’ve exchanged, he’s not ruthless or ambitious enough to be worthy of the title.   I’m not surprised his father nearly disowned him.”

           “His father was planning on altering his mind with blood magic.”

           “Now _that_ is the action of a Magister.”

           “He later came to regret his actions and asked for forgiveness.”

           “And where is he now?”

           “You know that already.   Dorian wouldn’t be a Magister if his father wasn’t dead.”

           “He showed weakness and the pack went in for the kill.”

           “Dorian isn’t the only decent Magister,” Enavir sounded agitated.

           “Fenris, dear, you’re being somewhat tactless,” Hawke reprimanded him.

           “I didn’t mean to worry you. Don’t fret yourself; luckily Dorian did inherit the intelligence of his forebears, plus a good deal of common sense.   He wants to change minds, rather than rise to the top, which will help keep him alive.   I’ve also done my bit, supplying him with a list of all of Denarius’ nastiest cronies.   Varric ensured it got to him. I didn’t get him to swear to any high minded morals either but advised him to follow the Dalish Way of the Arrow.   There now, that surprised you, didn’t it?”

           “Way of the Arrow? queried Hawke.

           “Be swift and silent,” Enavir recited. “Strike true; do not waiver and do not let your prey suffer.”

           “It wouldn’t do you harm to remember your roots instead of all your high minded sentiments.” Fenris looked him in the eye.

           “The current Divine Victoria told me that her predecessor was committed to improving the lot of the mages.   She stated to the Lord Seeker that ‘They are the Maker’s children, not to be tolerated, but to be cherished.’   He asked what price they might have to pay for her idealism.   Her response was that ‘a religion without ideals is tyranny’.”

           “So you admit you are founding a religion?”

           “No but what applies to a religion applies equally to any group that is trying to make a difference in the world.   Without ideals we will just be a bunch of bullies, hitting people and terrorising them into acceptance.   I have not forgotten my Dalish roots as you will quickly discover should any Venatori, Qunari or the Dread Wolf himself cross my path. I trained as an assassin for a reason and am not above using the Vir Banal’ras when necessary.   The true skill is knowing when it is appropriate to do so.   If any harm should befall Dorian then those responsible will learn to fear me and you will know I have not forgotten how to be a Dalish assassin.”

           “And I will gladly lend a hand,” Fenris glowed briefly. “Speaking of which, I understand from Cillian that you are planning a trip to Hasmal in the not too distant future, to keep some liberati safe from slavers. Is that so?”

           “Just as soon as Dorian confirms their departure from Vyrantium.”

           “I’d like to accompany you, if you have no objections.”

           “Not at all; it will be good to have you along.”

           “Now that’s more like it,” Fenris grinned and winked at Hawke.  

           Hawke laughed and shook her head. “Poor sods won’t stand a chance.”

           Enavir left them to mingle and made his way across the compound towards his own aravel, where he found Josmael awaiting him, having deposited some items that had been sent north from Kirkwall.

           “Enavir, I take it there is going to be food at this party of yours.”

           “Yes, I made plans ahead of your arrival.”

           “Local fare?”

           “That’s right.”

           “That’s what I was afraid of.   Starkhaven is famous for its fish and egg pie, right?”

           “Yes, it’s rather delicious actually.”

           “May be for someone who hasn’t lived in a fishing port for the last three years.   I swear if I eat another fish, I’ll turn into one.”

           “These are fresh water fish; a different flavour entirely.”

           “They’ve got scales haven’t they?   There’s a decent bit of woodland back along the road.   Please let me and the boys try and track down some venison.   I’ve really missed a good bit of roast deer and I bet the city folk would appreciate it too.”

           Enavir laughed. “Go ahead.   We’ll have a spit roast of whatever you can find.”

           He continued on to his aravel.   Inside was a wooden crate marked with Varric’s trading sigil.   It contained the books that Enavir had commissioned entitled “Elven Heroes”, which recounted the histories of Shartan, Ameridan and Garahel.   Enavir had written much of the text and Varric had edited it and arranged for the printing.  

           He had begun work on the history of Ameridan shortly after discovering the truth about him but had then expanded the work to include the other two.   He intended that every member of Revassan should have their own personal copy whether they could currently read or not, since improving his followers’ literacy skills was an important part of his strategy for raising their situation in life.   However, it had occurred to him that making a gift of the book to prominent members of the wider community might not be such a bad thing.     To this end he had sent the final draft to Divine Victoria because whilst he intended publishing it regardless, he realised it would help its circulation and acceptance by a wider audience if it received her approval.   The forward to the book contained her endorsement of the contents.   Enavir had planned on gifting a copy to Prince Sebastian but thought that Mother Rosamund should also be included on his list of beneficiaries.  

           A note from Varric enclosed with the assignment indicated that he had already sent copies to each of the other heads of the Marcher States with his compliments, plus the university in Markham. There was also a sealed envelope within the crate and a leather case, within which were three round globes of opaque crystal the size of a goose egg, resting on a bed of velvet. The envelope contain a letter from Varric.

           _Dear Lucky_

_I am pleased to learn that your efforts are bearing fruit.   Daisy’s school is going from strength to strength; your steward is tearing his hair out at your estate being overrun by children.   There are certainly some interesting doodles appearing on your walls._

_The nobility aren’t sure what to make of it; they think that perhaps they should be worried at the education of the lower classes but thankfully are as incapable of action as always, other than to deluge me with letters on the subject.   I have filed them in the same tray as those from Starkhaven and the Merchants’ Guild._

_Still no further forward on the wolf hunt.   It would seem our erstwhile friend has gone to ground.   The good news is there have been no further defections from the alienage.   Either his agents have been told to stay put for the present or my city is now free of his influence._

_I enclose some manuscripts that turned up on the black market.   They are very old, likely scavenged from some cache in the undercity and thus probably concealed there since Tevinter times.   According to my sources, there is a reference to elven artefacts and the ruins on Sundermount.   It has always been claimed that the elves made their last stand here. Daisy’s demon was imprisoned there. They say Andraste came here too and was deeply distressed by spending time on the mountain.   That doesn’t seem to fit with the history of slavery in our city, which didn’t break with Tevinter until long after Andraste’s time.   Anyway, perhaps you can make something of the information if you can find someone to translate them._

_I also received a visit from Kendrick, that archaeologist you met in the Frostback Basin. He was visiting his family in Ostwick and dropped off here in the hope of seeing you._

_Apparently the scholars working in the ruins in the Arbor Wilds discovered a small carved tablet with ancient elven script.   They have been busy trying to translate it ever since and he wanted you to have a copy of both in case you have experts who can make a more accurate translation.   It is in the enclosed envelope from him together with his own commentary._

_I also enclose three sending stones recovered from the Circles at Ostwick and Cumberland, plus the one that originally came from Starkhaven.   Whatever you do, don’t let on to Madame de Fer that you have them or she’ll demand them back. I have kept the one salvaged from the Gallows.   They are not as refined as the crystal that Sparkles gave you, so you’ll need a mage to operate them and will only be able to send a message, not conduct a two way conversation but I thought they might come in handy for keeping in touch. I’ve also had them retuned so they will only connect with one another.   They will certainly be a lot safer and quicker than birds. I leave it up to you where you’d like to deploy them._

_Tell Hawke I look forward to her assistance again in the near future.   I mean that Lucky._

_Your friend,_

_Varric Tethras_

           Enavir examined the manuscripts. Much was written in a script that he did not recognise but took to be ancient Tevene.   Even Dorian was not particularly conversant with such language.   Varric had underlined the passages that he had been told referenced elves.   He picked out one word that he remembered Corypheus using to try and taunt him.   “Rattus.”   It might literally mean “rat” but quite possibly merely “vermin”.   It could be that Varric’s contact was right about the elven reference.   If the documents traced from Tevinter then the disparaging remark about elves would fit.   He carefully examined the peculiar script and managed to discern “Emeritus”, the former name for Kirkwall.

           He thought about the tales he had heard in Kirkwall with regard to Andraste. Even if her army had come there, the history scholars said that she had moved them on without giving consideration to what she left behind and Tevinter had reversed many of her earlier victories, re-conquering what had been lost. They asserted that was why Maferath realised his army was being flanked and might well be cut off if he continued north.   Emeritus was the capital of the slave trade; it would hardly be surprising that Tevinter would direct its efforts to recovering it for the Imperium.  

           Enavir had spent some time on Sundermount while staying in Kirkwall and had felt the oppressive vibes of the place.   Merrill had warned him that the spirits rested uneasy there, even after their removal of the demon.   In fact it had proven an excellent training ground for potential Fade Hunters as angry spirits were inclined to appear in response to the intrusion of the living.   If the Tevinter were right and Andraste had been a mage, she would be more sensitive than he was.     Hadn’t Ameridan said how his beloved Telana was particularly distressed by Hakkon?   She was a dreamer.   Cole and Cassandra confirmed that dreamers are particularly sensitive to demons, that their presence caused distress.   Could Andraste have been a dreamer?  

           Merrill claimed that the demon imprisoned on Sundermount had been there since the time of the elves, so it would have been there when Andraste visited.   Was it just the presence of the powerful demon that so distressed Andraste or was it something more?   Had she the ability that Solas had of sleeping in old ruins and absorbing their memories? The stories claimed she had spent three days on the mountain and returned seemingly heartbroken.   In which case, what had she seen there?

           The human histories were as much based on legend as his own people’s. There were so many contradictions in them.   What puzzled him was that both Tevinter and the Dalish seemed to have a memory of a conflict between the elven empire and that of the Imperium. His people claimed the humans had arrived just before they felt the quickening; that is why they thought them responsible.   Solas claimed it was the result of him raising the Veil.   The Tevinter Imperium wasn’t established for at least another 1500 years and it was another 300 years before they claimed to have come into conflict with Arlathan.   According to Abelas that was only a remnant of the old empire.   At this point the Imperium had not yet conquered all of northern Thedas but humans had spread across the Continent.   So who were the elves on Sundermount?   Were they an ancient enclave, much as the Temple of Mythal, who were awakened to fight by the intrusion of the expanding Imperium?   Or did the monumental battle that gave rise to the unquiet spirits, belong to some much earlier period and possibly not involve the humans at all? What artefact might the Tevinter have acquired from the ruins?

           He placed the manuscript into a chest in which he kept all his most precious papers and books that he had acquired during his time as Inquisitor.   It was his intention to make a secure store in the tower basement but at present the locked iron chest would have to do.   Finding a translator for the old texts was something he would have to give attention to.   There was no point in people sending him manuscripts if he couldn’t decipher them.   It annoyed him that he had relied on Solas for that in the past, at least where elven was concerned.

           There had also been Morrigan but he had no idea where she had disappeared to.   He decided the best course for the present might be to copy the text and send it to Dorian and let him find a trustworthy translator.

           The document from Kendrick was even more interesting, since it had already been translated, although he could always get his companions to check its accuracy.   It seemed to express the feelings of the elves which had been at the Temple about their situation post Veil.     What was even more curious was the commentary from Kendrick that pointed out similarities scholars had notice between this text and a poem that was attributed to the Alamarri, the people of Andraste.

           Cillian returned to join him and sat on the steps of the aravel.

           “Something interesting?” He gestured towards the document in Enavir’s hand.

           “Take a look yourself.   You can check if the scholars have translated it correctly.   It is copied from a tablet taken from the Temple of Mythal.”

           “So once again they rob us of our heritage.”

           “At least I’ve been given a copy.   It is interesting because apparently there is a later poem of the Alamarri that seems based on it.   That would suggest that there was more than one example of the elven poem in circulation or someone managed to explore the area earlier without waking the sentinels.”

           “Alamarri?   Weren’t they the barbarians associated with Andraste?”

           “That’s right.”

            “So a tribe associated with Andraste just so happened to have had a sight of an ancient elven poem.   That seems unlikely.”

           “Or there were elves around in the south before our people, who hadn’t totally retreated from contact and they shared stories with their human neighbours.”

           “Could I take a closer look at that?”

           “By all means.   Feel free to examine any of the documents in my aravel.   I could do with as many insights as possible.”

           “When things are a bit quieter then,” Cillian smiled his gratitude and looked back across the compound.

           “That blood mage seems a truly reformed character and humble with it; that sounds odd coming out of an Orlesian.”

           “You never can tell, eh?”

            “That’s for sure.” He gestured towards the compound. “Look at them; Dalish and city elf, human and elf bloodied, all brought together by your leadership.   It makes you wonder how things ever got so bad between the races.   You are a remarkable person, Enavir.”

           Enavir cocked his head on one side. “Are you trying to flatter me?”

           Cillian chuckled. “Just stating the truth, my friend.   Merrill told me that when her clan were in the Brecillian Forest, back before the Blight, they found some old ruins.   It is where her eluvian came from.   Apparently there were signs that humans and elves lived there together and there was a statue of one of our gods, Andruil I think she said.   Do you suppose that was before Fen’Harel shut them away or after?”

           “Human records indicate they only arrived in the north a few hundred years before the quickening although I saw another saying it was longer than that.   Raven’s journal said they discovered ruins as well, when she was working to recruit the Dalish in Ferelden.   There was also an old tree that could speak.   Presumably it was possessed by a spirit but not savage like the ones that occupy sylvans. The tree claimed that the elves planted the forest and that much later there was a terrible battle there, which is why the Veil was so thin. There was also the spirit of an arcane warrior in the ruins that told her of some terrible evil attacking the place.   I’m pretty sure that it said the spirit also spoke of humans and elves united against it.   It seems so sad to think how that unity was later broken.   Were we to blame for withdrawing like we did?   Did we simply lose touch or did they think we abandoned them.   Why did we blame them for our loss of immortality; the elves in the library seemed aware of the true culprit.”

           “I dare say it was a combination of factors.   If we were living together, then there must have been unions between the races.   When they saw it only resulted in human children, our ancestors may have been concerned about losing themselves.   They had already lost their gods and their magic.   It would have been some years before they realised they were aging and dying too.   Our legends also speak of succumbing to humans diseases.   Even if they didn’t think the humans were deliberately responsible, I suppose it was reasonable enough to want to withdraw before any more damage was done.”

           “They were leaderless too. The privileged class seem to have entered uthenera in order to await the return of the gods.   That just left the ordinary ones adrift and unsure what to do.”

           “More likely they were ordered to withdraw by the priesthood and didn’t dare to disobey.   Remember our story about the gods returning when we remember what it is to be elves?   We didn’t make that up; someone suggested it to us to keep us away from the pollution of the humans, to keep us pure.”

           “Then when humans came into contact with the remnants of our empire, they drove them away or killed them, just as they did at the Temple of Mythal.”

           “Even so,” said Cillian with a thoughtful frown, “it wasn’t just our fault.   There were hostile humans too.       I heard a human legend that said the first dreamers learned about magic from the elves but not freely; they were captured slaves and they told them the secret about lyrium.”

           “That’s a new one on me.   I’m surprised Dorian never told me about that.”

           “Did you ask?   Besides he might not know that himself.   Didn’t he say the Magisters have never been too keen to publicise what they learnt from the elves and have done their level best to wipe the records clean of elven history?”

           “So where did you hear it?”

           “A chap called Rion.   He was formerly in the Ostwick Circle and it had a number of history books, mostly Chantry propaganda but sometimes there are kernels of truth even among their writings.   The chapter was discussing the rise of the Imperium and how they acquired their knowledge of blood magic.   One school of thought tried to blame that on the elves but that would lessen the culpability of the old gods, so the writer was positing a different theory; that of making the humans aware of lyrium.”

           Enavir pondered the idea for a while before responding.

           “It does sort of fit.   There are two references to the human dreamers in the histories that I read.   The first has them being taught magic by the whisperers from the Fade not long after the elves withdrew from contact; the second has the dreamer Thalsian learning blood magic from Dumat but that was 1500 years later.   It also claims he was the first priest of Dumat but that can’t be true because this was after the destruction of Barindur that was allegedly brought about because they lost the favour of Dumat.”

           “Unless he was the first priest of Tevinter to worship Dumat.”

           “I thought he was Neromenian. Still, I was thinking that the Altus in Tevinter make a lot of the fact that they trace to the first Dreamers, so it is hardly surprising that every early mage of Tevinter is credited with being one.   Dreamers can enter the Fade at will but mages like yourself can only do so in sleep or with the assistance of lyrium, is that right?”

           “Not had too much contact with lyrium, considering how expensive the stuff is, so I can only take your word on it, but it is true I can’t enter it at will.”

           “So it is possible that the earlier contact with the whisperers from the Fade may have come about because the tribesmen had learned how to use lyrium from the elves, whether captives or not.”

           Cillian nodded thoughtfully.  

           “An interesting hypothesis.”

           “Ironic when you think about it,” continued Enavir. “From my explorations it would seem that Mythal, probably aided by the other Evanuris, freed the dwarves from the control of the Titans and discovered lyrium, thus starting the dwarves on their new path of prosperity.   Then this act finally rebounded against the later elves when the Magisters were able to use their friendship with the dwarves to acquire stocks of lyrium that probably helped them enslave the elves, which in turn gave them a new source of power through the magic in our blood.”

           “I wonder if the fact that they knew they did owe so much to the elves is why they were so determined to destroy Arlathan.   Think about it; they clearly found it more useful in the past to enslave the inhabitants and pick the ruins clean.   Your Dorian said he saw foci in old pictures that were likely scavenged from our empire.   Yet with Arlathan they totally destroyed it; sank it into the ground.   That suggests to me that they didn’t just want conquest but they were actually afraid of what the elves might be able to use against them.   They preferred to lose the possibility of the loot they might find rather than risk that happening.”

           “If that is true, then whatever was within Arlathan would have sunk with it, in which case it might still be there.”   Enavir sat up abruptly.   “That’s it, that’s what Solas will be aiming for in Tevinter.   The other ruins were robbed of their treasures long ago but Arlathan wasn’t.   He’s going to try and get to Arlathan.”

           “He may already be there; he has the eluvians.”

           “No.   It is possible to close them off.   The elves would have locked them from the other side to ensure there was no way that Tevinter could get in should they have gained control of the network.   That’s why Solas sent the Qun back northwards.   Tevinter probably still has outposts in the forest but the moment the Qun attack they will withdraw them in order to concentrate on protecting their cities.   That’s what he is waiting for.   Then in the chaos of war he or his agents can search the forest at their leisure.   We have to go there ourselves.   We must try and beat him to anything that remains there.”

           Their conversation was interrupted by a cry of warning; they glanced across to beyond the stockade and saw a group of armed warriors riding in the direction of the compound, flying the banner of Starkhaven.   Their leader was resplendent in white armour.

           “It’s Prince Sebastian.”

           Both leapt down from the aravel and hurried to meet with the newcomers.  

           “It’s okay,” he assured the other elves as he passed, “I’m sure it is just a friendly visit from our overlord.”

           “Let’s hope so,” muttered Cillian.

           Enavir vaulted onto his horse and rode out to greet the arrivals, wanting to appear both welcoming and yet not intimidated.   He raised his open hand as a sign of non-aggression.   Sebastian did the same.

           “Greetings, my lord Prince, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

           “Hail and well met, Comte Lavellan.   Your stirring speech this morning reminded me that I had yet to see the progress you have been making out here.   Do I have your leave to enter?”

           “Of course, you are most welcome.”

           Enavir wheeled his horse and rode in through the gate alongside the Prince.   If the latter was affronted by Enavir adopting equal status with him, he did not give any outward indication of it.  

           The soldiers accompanying him were clearly his personal body guard, only a dozen in number and therefore not intended as a threat for they would have soon been overwhelmed in a confrontation with Enavir’s forces.   Nevertheless Enavir wondered if Sebastian was surprised at the speed with which he had established himself and the confidence displayed in his followers both Dalish and city elf.  

           The latter showed none of the apprehension and submissive deference that was usual when confronted by human nobility; their heads were held high as the riders passed them by and they maintained eye contact when a glance was directed towards them.   Such behaviour might well be seen as a challenge and a threat by the human soldiers, if not Sebastian himself.   Enavir realised he would have to be careful to ensure the visit was a positive one and Sebastian still regarded them as allies when he left.

           Hawke also hurried to join them as the company dismounted.   Enavir was grateful for her support as it was clear Sebastian still held her in high regard and though it irked him to admit it, Enavir realised that without her he would never have persuaded Sebastian on first arriving in Starkhaven.   Seeing her now it was clear the Prince visibly relaxed.   Sebastian told his soldiers to stand down while they took him on a tour of the compound.   Enavir outlined the improvements they still intended to make to the tower, while Hawke explained her ideas for ensuring the sound education of young mages attending the school.   Sebastian nodded his approval of their plans but Enavir sensed that he was still unconvinced and uneasy about what he had authorised.  

           The problem existed in the mutual animosity that had always existed between the races and the mistrust this engendered.   It was something that needed to be overcome before the Prince left their company. Much as he hated the obsequious flattery of the Game in Orlais, he acknowledged it had its uses.

           “I would consider it an honour if you and your soldiers would remain with us for the rest of the day.   We were planning on having a little celebration this evening of what has been achieved and it would only be fitting for you to be a part of it, since your foresight and faith has enabled us to come this far.”

           Hawke followed his lead.

           “How about a mini tourney to pass the time until the feast?   It has always been said in the Marches that there is nothing like a tourney to bring us together.”

           “It has always been the customary way of entertaining a guest of honour,” Sebastian mused with a knowing smile.   “I’m glad to see you have not entirely forgotten my status here.   Very well, I graciously accept your invitation Comte Lavellan and Lady Hawke.   Set up the contests of skill and I shall consult my men about who would best represent us.”

           He returned to his soldiers and shortly after there came an enthusiastic cheer from their direction; clearly the prospect of a tourney appealed to them.   Enavir passed the message on among the elves and was pleased to see they were equally enthusiastic to display their skill.   He suggested they decide for themselves who should be their respective champions.

           “Let’s hope we don’t win every contest,” remarked Cillian with a wry smile.   “That wouldn’t do at all if we want them to admit we’re not a threat.”

           “I hope you’re not suggesting we fix the result,” Enavir starred at him.

           “Not exactly,” Cillian arched his eyebrows. “May be let the city elves have their chance to shine, at least some of the time.   That should even things up a bit.   They’re good kids for the most part but still learning.   Mind you, Joss took our best scouts off on his deer hunt so we may have no choice.”

           “That’s true, I’d forgotten about them.”

           “I hadn’t,” said Hawke.   “I’m not as daft as you think.”

           A makeshift dais was constructed on one side of the compound and Sebastian was given the seat of honour with Enavir and Hawke on either side of him.   Barriers were erected on either side of the main area behind which the spectators could gather.   The soldiers had placed their shields to indicate the area for their supporters, together with the banner of Starkhaven, whilst the elves placed the emblems and standards of Revassan, the Dalish and the city elves.   Enavir’s followers amounted to just over fifty souls but he noticed that Cillian seemed to have encouraged some to show some support for the opposition, or maybe they had done so voluntarily.   The groups did seem to have divided somewhat on racial lines, with the young mages and Genevieve supporting the Prince’s team.   There was no sign of Gaspard du Pius and Enavir guessed that perhaps he was avoiding the notice of Prince Sebastian.

           The impromptu tourney got underway.   Sebastian’s riders were successful in every round of the joust, which came as little surprise given the lack of experience his own people had with horses or that style of fighting.     However, the tables were turned with the barrel racing, when Lauren stepped forward as the representative of Clan Revassan and easily outrode her opponent in each leg in which she was engaged, to tumultuous cheering from the elves.   She rode past the dais her eyes shining with triumph and pleasure; sending a glance and smile at Enavir.

           The rest of the events were on foot.   The Starkhaven soldiers seemed to have the edge in the two handed weapon event, until Fenris stepped forward as the representative of Kirkwall and wearing the favour of his Lady Hawke.   He won the day which seemed to satisfy the supporters on both sides.   There followed a grand melee, which was eventually declared at tie between forces and honours even.

           Lastly was the archery.   Even the Dalish left out of the hunting party seemed to have superior skill to the soldiers in this.   Sebastian expressed his admiration at their prowess.   However, his soldiers seemed to be having some sort of wager with the local elves that had nothing to do with the outcome on the field.   Shortly after, Lauren was deputised to make a request on behalf of both sides.  

           “The men of Starkhaven say that their Prince is well known for his skill with the bow and they wish him to act as their champion to settle the issue over who is supreme in the test of archery.”

           Sebastian glanced at his companions.

           “This is highly irregular….”

           “But you really want to,” Hawke surmised.   “Go on, Sebastian, you earned that fabled reputation with a bow back in Kirkwall with me.   Let your men see it was not undeserved.”

           “Well I’m a mite out of practice but if you’ll allow me to get my eye in first.”

           “Of course.”

           Sebastian started to remove his cloak, when Cillian intervened.

           “Wait a minute.   Our best archers are out hunting at present.   All save one.” He gestured to Enavir.   “If the men of Starkhaven are going to have their leader represent them, then I think it only fair that we should have our own champion.”

           “But I thought you were maimed?” said Sebastian.

           “No longer,” Enavir threw back his cloak and held up his left arm. The silverite hand gleamed in the sun.   “I received this today. It has enabled me to take up my bow again but like you, I am out of practice, so it will probably be a fair enough test between us.   Do you approve?”

           Sebastian gave a roguish grin.  

           “Why not?   It will be good to feel the thrill of the challenge once more.   Let’s have at it.   Prepare the field.”

           A great cheer went up from the assembled multitude when it was realised that both leaders had agreed to take the field.     The bosses were set up fifty yards from the end of the stockade initially, to allow them to warm up.   Neither archer had any difficulty in hitting the centre of the gold with each of their three arrows.  

           The distance was doubled and again the honours were even.   A murmur ran through the watching crowd.   The bosses were moved to one hundred and fifty yards and still they could not be split.   Finally they were moved back to the very far edge of the compound, close to two hundred yards.    

           Sebastian hit the gold with every arrow but slightly off centre with the last of the three.   Enavir’s first two arrows had been perfect but he had waited to see the result of Sebastian’s draw before releasing his own.   The tactful, the expedient, the diplomatic thing to do would be to throw the match.   No one would blame him; no one need even suspect.   It could just be put down to his new arm.  

           Yet it would be dishonest and also betray the trust of his people; they needed this victory and had been forced to back down in the face of human pride for far too long.   He loosed the arrow; it flew true.  

           The elves reacted with ecstatic cheers and the noise with tremendous.   Yet he realised that even the soldiers were joining in.   That was when he realised; they had expected him to throw the match and they admired his integrity for not doing so.   When he turned to Sebastian he saw that he was equally satisfied.

           “Thank you for a good match and for not patronising me.   That’s why you paused wasn’t it?   You were wondering whether you should let me win.”

           “I did.”

           “I’m not an Orlesian, thank the Maker.   You have proven yourself a man of honour, Enavir.   I will never doubt your word to me again.   No matter what occurs in the future, your people are safe with me.”   He held out his hand for Enavir to shake.   “Now what about that feast?”

           Almost as though on cue there came another cheer from the company as the hunters returned with two deer thrown over the back of their pack horses.

           “It looks like we’re going to have roast venison after all,” Enavir grinned.

           Josmael left the others and rode on up to Enavir.  

           “We found something else as well,” he said excitedly.  

           He unbuttoned the front of his jerkin and revealed the head of a wolf cub; it was white as snow with pale blue eyes.

           “An albino, like Atisha.   We figure that’s why it was rejected by the pack.   He was all alone when we found him.   He can be our mascot. I’m calling him Smoke.   The new Emerald Knights have their wolf guardian once more.   That has to be a good omen.”

           “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” muttered Cillian.

******

           The feasting and fun with Sebastian and his troops lasted well into the night and Enavir felt guilty when it finished and he realised how late it was without him telling Dorian of his good news.   After their guests departed, he retreated to his aravel to contact him.  

           “I’ve got my arm back.”

           “How exactly, I assume it hasn’t simply grown back?”

           “It was Dagna’s work.   It is metal but it is better than nothing and I can use my bow again. I even won an archery competition today.”

           “That’s wonderful.” Dorian sounded genuinely pleased.

           It had occurred to Enavir that Dorian’s lack of enthusiasm about a prospective visit might have been because Enavir had been so preoccupied with his own endeavours that he had scarcely asked about the progress Dorian was making in the Magisterium, so he made a point of asking him.

           “Frustratingly slow at present,” Dorian admitted. “It is not just their resistance to the reforms but their whole attitude to taking action.   The western side of the Imperium is particularly complacent about the danger presented by the Qun.   For too long it has just been a problem confined to Seheron and they think my warnings are an attempt to bolster my power in Qarinus rather than a genuine call to arms for the sake of us all.   To be honest I’ve been a little envious of the successes you are having down south.”

           “It hasn’t been all plain sailing.   Never give up; that’s my motto.”

           “I’ve noticed.   How about cheering me up with a detailed account of your day?”

            Enavir was only too happy to oblige and their conversation, far more relaxed and intimate than it had been in recent days, continued until the first light of dawn.


	11. Chapter 11

Enavir slept to well past midday and awoke feeling fully refreshed, relaxed and happy now he and Dorian seemed to be talking easily again.   He started giving thought to the serious business of planning his next move, since Dorian had confirmed he was making travel plans for his servants.   Enavir was reassured that Sebastian could be relied on to protect his followers from any members of the community that wished to cause trouble, so he had less misgivings about leaving them without his support while he went into the north.   Now he needed to decide who would go with him and who would remain behind to keep the momentum going in developing their community.

           He called together the principle members of his team; Cillian, Josmael, Atisha, Ashavise and Enansal from the Dalish; Anierin, Ladia and Valendriel for the city elves; Fenris, Hawke and Genevieve for the other Marchers.     A large map of Thedas was spread out in front of them so he could explain his plan of action and his dilemma over the best course to take.

           “Our potential forces, excluding Hawke and Fenris are fifty three. We have thirty two trained warriors, sixteen auxiliaries and the remainder are mages. There are further Dalish to the southwest in Wildervale awaiting developments but I would rather not call on them at present as people seem jittery enough about our presence. The young human mages from Starkhaven, the majority of the city elves from both Kirkwall and Starkhaven and the surplus mage children from the Dalish that we have adopted are too young or inexperienced to use.   I trust, Genevieve that you and Gaspard will see to the welfare of the mages, with input from Hawke.”

           “We are only too happy to do so,” agreed Genevieve.

           “As soon as we hear from Dorian, we will have about a week to get to the region of Hasmal in advance of the caravan.”

           He indicated the position on the map.

           “What we need to decide is whether to take the whole force to Hasmal, see the caravan safely over the border and then split up, with the main group heading into Tevinter up the western side of the mountains or trust that a small task force are capable of escorting the caravan to safety and sending the main group up the eastern side of the mountains to Arlathan.”

           “The route up the east would certainly be the most direct,” agreed Cillian.

           “The problem is that could antagonise Antiva, resulting in not only a diplomatic incident with Starkhaven but Crows descending on us.   I’d rather avoid that if we can.”

           “Aren’t you afraid of antagonising Tevinter?”asked Atisha.

           “Not really.   It won’t affect relations with Starkhaven and no one really cares what they think anyway.”

           “What size force are we talking about?” asked Fenris.

           “Forty, may be fifty, at most. We’ll need to leave some trained warriors behind.”

           “That’s no more than a small mercenary outfit.   Whether Antiva or Tevinter, they’ll probably think us as such if they notice us at all.   If we keep moving and don’t harm anyone, then we will probably pass unnoticed.   The real issue is what your strategy will be.   Taking the western route will take you close to both Perivantium and Marothius.   They are remote from the power bases of the Imperium and so could be ripe for infiltration and unrest.   It might be useful to find out what is happening there, if you want to keep the elves there out of the clutches of both the Qun and the Dread Wolf.”

           “I do but I am worried about delaying our progress in getting to Arlathan Forest.”

           “If you want to discover the ancient ruins of Arlathan I doubt it is going to be easy.   Otherwise the Tevinter will have scavenged it long since. You may find they did.   If we can free the slaves, I have no doubt they would follow you anywhere and fight just as fiercely.   Not only that but the Tevinter would expect escaped slaves to flee south, so if word got out they would likely send slave hunters in the wrong direction.   Besides they may well have more important things to worry about, like Qunari dreadnoughts on the horizon, which is also why you could do with having a large force on getting to Arlathan. That forest looks an ideal place to conceal a large force of Qunari if they try and bring them ashore without being detected by Tevinter.   Once they get a hold on a place, it will be very hard to shift them or search it without running into them.   You need sufficient numbers to secure the area you are interested in and watch your back while you explore.”

           “I have to admit he’s right,” said Cillian.   “You always had Inquisition forces backing you up in the past.   It is not as though you can send back for reinforcements if things start getting difficult.”

           “I don’t know, if I’m freeing slaves I don’t want to do so just so I can use them for my own ends; that makes me no better than the rest.”

           “Might I have a say in this?” said Anierin.

           “By all means.”

           “I agree with you that having the Qun take over in the north would be no better than Tevinter and probably a lot worse, plus if anyone is going to take Arlathan Forest from the Tevene then I want it to be elves.   The Dales was only our home for a few hundred years.   Arlathan was always our home.   Tevinter stole it from us and we’re the ones who should take it back if they can’t hold it.   That may give this Dread Wolf pause for thought as well.   You have given us back our self-respect, Enavir.   You have the sword of Shartan.   It is a sign that change is imminent.   I believe this is a test of our faith.   The eastern route is the easy one, the quick one and for that reason it should be avoided.   Go to Hasmal, see the caravan safe and then lead us north into Tevinter.   You claimed the title of Champion of Andraste in the Chantry and the burden she laid on Shartan. It is time to continue his work; we should free the slaves of Tevinter.”

           Enavir looked around at the faces of his companions and realised that Anierin had spoken for them all.   Even Hawke was nodding her agreement.  

           “Why do you hesitate?” said Cillian.   “Is it because of Dorian?”

           He didn’t answer but closed his eyes and prayed for guidance.   If he did this it would mean concealing his actions from Dorian; at least that way his friend would not be compromised by his knowledge of his actions in advance.  

           Would he feel betrayed when he discovered their course after the event?   He remembered Solas’ words to Dorian. ‘ _If you are truly sorry about the past, then you would free the slaves of all races_ ’.   Dorian’s response had been that he wasn’t sure he was capable of doing that.   ‘ _But I am’_ , thought Enavir.   He re-opened his eyes and smiled with confidence at the company.

           “You’re right.   We’ll take the western path and free the slaves.”

*******

           The intervening days before their departure were spent in preparing for it.   Fenris continued to train the city elves, with the assistance of Josmael, Enansal and Anierin, who helped identify those who might be considered for the journey.   It had been agreed that Ashavise would continue the training in their absence and command the fortress with the assistance of Laida and Valendriel.     Enavir gave them one of the sending stones so they could be kept informed of their progress.   Another he had despatched to Wycome.

           Anierin would be one of the squad leaders in their task force, leading the small detachment of city elves that were considered able and had indicated they were willing to take part.   The rest of the party would be made up of Dalish, plus Fenris, who made it clear he wished to continue with them into Tevinter itself.

           “Are you sure about this? queried Enavir. “Aren’t you a fugitive?”

           “You need me.   I am far more familiar with the culture of Tevinter than you are.   I certainly know more of modern Tevene than you do.   I also have a working knowledge of Qunlat and know some of the customs of the Qunari, which has come in useful in the past when dealing with them.   I’ll be in no more danger than any of you, even if someone should recognise me as an ex-slave, which is unlikely.”

           “But what about Hawke?”

           “You asked her to keep an eye on the mages here and Varric needs her too.”

           “More than you?”

           “You are separated from your love out of necessity aren’t you?   You will recall that Hawke sent me away previously because she thought she would bring me into danger because of my desire to protect her.   The last time I played Wicked Grace with Varric he admitted that Hawke would be dead now but for you.   She wanted to throw her life away out of some misguided notion that she was responsible for Corypheus.   I have never thanked you for that.” He gave a chuckle. “I’ve just been a pain in the arse to you about the friends you keep.   Well, I pay my debts.   Hawke understands.   Besides I seem to recall that the main aim is to save the world and keeping you alive is somewhat essential to that.   Do you object to my company?”

           “I wouldn’t dare,” Enavir grinned.  

           Enavir divided their forces into squads of six warriors, two auxiliaries and a mage, plus himself and Fenris, who had indicated he preferred not to be in command of anyone else but free to act on his own initative, and Lauren who was insistent she would not be left behind and was to be their personal auxiliary.  

           This meant the final tally of their task force was forty eight. The leaders of the squads would be Josmael, Anierin, Enansal, Atisha and Cillian. The warriors were really archers, mostly hunters with a few specialist scouts.   There were few pure sword fighting types but since they needed to travel light, their main method of fighting would be from a distance and avoiding directly engaging the enemy in hand to hand combat.   All those Dalish who had trained in horse archery were now with them, which made twenty five experts, plus an additional five city elves that were competent, without being able to engage in the sort of acrobatics that the Dalish could.   In any engagement their main advantage would be speed. The auxiliaries would be responsible for maintaining gear, controlling the pack animals on the journey and keeping track of stores.   Each group would have two pack horses, one to carry spare gear and a lightweight tent for their sleeping quarters, the other food, medicines and other miscellaneous items. The auxiliary soldiers were still capable of fighting if necessary, mostly dagger work but one in every group had been issued with a crossbow as well.   Their main purpose, though, was to guard the equipment, not engage with any enemies.  

           Ashavise and Valandriel would bring an additional group of twenty city elves, who seemed most forward in their training, as far as Hasmal, leaving Ladia to command the fortress with Hawke until their return with the caravan.

           The various squads spent the last few days before departure running through drills on how to react to different potential threats that might occur.   The whole compound seemed tense with anticipation of what lay ahead and a desire for the waiting to be over.   Finally the call from Dorian came.

           “Amatus.   We got into port this morning and I have managed to get my servants onto a caravan leaving for Hasmal at noon.   They should be there in seven days at the most.”

           “We’ll be ready for them.”  

           “Any news?”  

           “Not since we last spoke.”

           Enavir felt guilty that he couldn’t say more.   Every night when they spoke he dreaded being caught out or having to lie outright to his love.

           “What about at your end?”

           “The usual, tedious Magister stuff, nothing you would find interesting.”

           Dorian sounded overly casual as though acting a part.   More like he had been when they had first known one another and their acquaintance was strained by mistrust. Enavir wondered if he sensed he was holding out on him.   Perhaps it was because he didn’t ask the obvious question.   Enavir thought he would risk it.

           “Why don’t you come as far as Hasmal with them?   It would only take a little over a fortnight out of your schedule.”

           He waited, his heart pounding, lest Dorian should actually take him up on the offer, which would complicate things somewhat.

           “No, sorry, Amatus, much as I’d like to.   I have to catch the next tide to Qarinus. Chin up, I’m sure you’ve plenty to keep you busy.   Anyway, I must dash.”

           Dorian definitely sounded odd.   It wasn’t like him to rush off like that.   Did he suspect anything?   Enavir chided himself for his suspicions that were likely the product of a guilty conscience, rather than Dorian’s behaviour. However, he had made his decision and he needed to stick to it, for good or ill where his relationship with Dorian was concerned.

           Their party made good time to the region of Hasmal and arrived a day earlier than the caravan was expected.   There had been suspicious glances from the locals as they passed the neighbourhood of Tantervale but Hasmal was a border settlement and thus a focal point for all manner of mercenary groups looking for gainful employ either escorting caravans or tracking down bandits on behalf of the local governor, so their group barely registered any acknowledgement by the locals.   One or two bands took more interest in them as potential rivals but on seeing their strength, decided it was expedient to ignore their existence.   They made camp on the north side of the city and then Enavir, Cillian and Fenris made their way back in to see if they could discover any news from the north in one of the local bars.

           “Been dead quiet,” the barkeep told them. “Too quiet if you ask me.   The Tevinter border controls have been far less active but the slave hunters seem to have gone to ground too.   Mind you there’s been little sign of runaways of late.   There’s usually a steady stream of them late spring and early summer.   The Magister lords head off to their country estates to escape the heat of the cities and their servants take the opportunity to skip town.” He shrugged. “May be life is getting too good for them to want to quit.”

           The companions glanced at one another and Cillian raised his eyebrows.

           “Are the Magisters getting better or is something else driving their loyalty?”

           “The Qun most likely,” agreed Fenris. “They’ve been known to get their followers to sell themselves back into slavery so as to position themselves where they are needed.”

           “Something is definitely brewing.” Enavir nodded ruefully.

           They returned to their task force and suggested everyone get an early night so they would be fresh for a dawn departure.   The following morning they headed north and crossed the border into Tevinter shortly after sun rise.   There was no sign of any border patrols but that didn’t reduce their sense of unease.   The land here was dryer than in the Marches, sitting as it did in the rain shadow of the mountain range and their passage was marked by a lingering dust cloud.   Ahead of them there was no corresponding cloud that would indicate an approaching caravan.   The land was gently undulating, so it was difficult to see far ahead and their scouts rode ahead to spy out the land for danger.   The sun was mid-way to its zenith when they came racing back towards them.

           “The caravan is under attack.   Just over that ridge, about a mile away in a shallow canyon. ”

           Enavir led them forward at a gallop.   As they breasted the ridge they could hear the sounds of conflict.   They swept down the other side and into the canyon.   Ahead the caravan had been surrounded by armed riders, who were engaged in battle with dwarves who appeared to be the main guards.  

           The latter were outnumbered and would definitely have fallen had Enavir’s troop not intervened.   They caught the assailants totally blindsided and left them little chance as they rode through, their cavalry archers making swift work of bringing them down, while those following on with swords finished off any who had survived the first wave.   It was quick and efficient, leaving all the bandits dead and Enavir’s party unscathed.   Leaving the others to check the bodies for valuables, he rode back to find the leader of the caravan, a weathered looking dwarf, with a gash on his forehead.

           “Hail and well met,” he called out as Enavir approached.   Then he saw his ears.   “Blow me, if you aren’t an elf.”

           He glanced around at the rest of the company and saw that they were similarly endowed.

           “Odgee Stonehammer thanks you for your assistance,” he bowed. “So I’m guessing this isn’t an Imperial border guard detachment.   Where did you spring from?”

           “Out of Hasmal, looking for you.   You’ve got some ex-slaves travelling with you that belonged to a friend of mine.   He wanted to see them safely over the border.”

           “You mean Magister Pavus.   Well, well, he said they would be my lucky charm. I wondered why he had such a twinkle in his eye as he said it.”

           He gave a sharp whistle.

           “You there, come on out. You’re safe now. These are friends.”

           The flap to one of the wagons was thrown open and an elderly elf looked out fearfully.   When he saw Enavir sitting astride his horse and the others behind him, his eyes went wide with astonishment.

           “Mahrie, will you look at this.   Elf warriors, like he said.   Master Dorian wasn’t joking.”  

           He jumped down from the wagon and turned to help down his companions.   One by one they joined him on the ground, looking in wonderment at their elven saviours.

           “My family,” he said. “Mahrie my wife, my daughter Orina and her husband Fahriel and their children, Solis, Rahin and Fliss.   I’m Rohli.”   He pointed to a second group of two elderly elves, a young man and a woman with a baby in arms. “Fahriel’s mother and father, Mariel and Dahren, his brother Dariel, his wife Shereen and their daughter, Roselie.”

           “Good to finally meet you,” said Enavir with a smile.

           Orina ran forward, her eyes streaming with tears.

           “Thank you for saving us and giving us the chance to be free.”

           She attempted to kiss his hand but he jerked it away.

           “None of that,” he said sharply.   “You’re not slaves anymore and I am but an ordinary elf, like you.”

           “Oh not so ordinary,” her husband Fahriel grinned. “Master Dorian doesn’t think so anyway.   I reckon you’re the reason he stayed away in the south for so long.”

           “Fahriel, don’t be so disrespectful,” Rohli chided him.

           “That’s okay,” said Enavir. “No offence taken.   I’m guessing, Fahriel, that you like to read Master Dorian’s private correspondence, am I right?”

           “Makes for interesting reading, that’s for sure,” Fahriel winked.

           “Are you done making small talk?” said Cillian.   “Only it’s time we got underway again.   Atisha has seen to the injured.”

           “As you can see, my own companions give me the greatest respect,” Enavir said with a laugh.   “If you would resume your places, ladies and gentlemen.”

           The caravan started on it way once more.   Odgee took his place in the lead wagon and Enavir rode alongside.

           “What made you come so far north?” asked Odgee.   “A bit risky bringing a force of this size into Tevinter.   Weren’t you afraid of Imperial guards?”

           “Haven’t seen any as yet.   We heard back in Hasmal they’ve not been sighted much near the border of late.   I had a feeling that we might not be the only ones who were aware of that fact.   Can you shed any light on it?”

           “Last we saw of any was back in Solas. They were riding in as we were driving out. It is odd they’re not around.   The Magisters like to keep the trade routes open, particularly overland, what with the sea route being plagued by pirates and oxmen.   The main passage is down the old Imperial Highway to Cumberland but the Freemarches route is still important to them. Something urgent must have cropped up for them to stop the patrols.”

           “So what’s your main cargo?”

           “Mostly cloth, Tevinter silks chiefly, but also spices and rare perfumes.   Very popular with the nobility in the Marches.”

           “What about the other way?”

           “Non-perishable foodstuffs mainly.   Less profitable than lyrium but you don’t have to put up with the bullshit politics of Orzammar that way.”

           “So that’s why you’re headed to Starkhaven?”

           “That’s right.   It’s a focal point for the Marches; they bring goods up the river from further east and I getter a better price for mine than I would in Tantervale.”

           “How do you find the route?”

           “Peaceful, usually.   The only dodgy bit is just across the border, where the Tevinter patrols stop but the southerners don’t seem bothered with making good the difference.   Not that there has been anything we can’t cope with before.   It is not usual for anyone to be that determined to get themselves killed over our sort of cargo.”

           “Magister Pavus seemed to think there might be a problem.   His ex-slaves were a bit nervous by all accounts, or we wouldn’t be here.”

           “Like I say, they’ve proved a lucky charm.   They were probably worried that if we were attacked we’d trade them off to get away.   Twelve elves, eight of them young; they’d fetch a fair price I should imagine.     Truth is they were never in any danger of that.   I’ve my reputation to consider and word is you elves are making a bit of a stir in the Marches.” He gave a glance across towards the lines of horseman. “I think I can see why.”

           “Fair enough,” Enavir grinned.   “So you think it will be safe enough for us to leave you with just token assistance once we get to Hasmal?”

           “So this display wasn’t just for our benefit?”

           “Let’s just say I was planning on more than just a brief visit to Tevinter.   We were anticipating trouble and after what we have encountered so far, I’m interested in finding out what exactly is going on in the north.”

           “So would I.   After our experiences today, I’m not venturing north again until I find out exactly what they are playing at.” He sat for a few moments in consideration. “You know you could cut the journey a bit shorter and avoid trouble after leaving us if you stay east of the main route. Stay in the foothills to the mountains up as far as the Hundred Pillars.”

           “By-pass Perivantium? What about water and supplies.”

           “There are wells and enough wild game that your little group should have no problem feeding themselves.   Perivantium is the arse end of nowhere and its rulers mostly Laetans, so vicious bastards out to prove their worth to the nobs in the coastal centres.     They’ll give you nothing but grief.”

           “What about the slaves?”

           “What about them?   They’ve got ‘em the same as everywhere else but I should imagine they need to be tough to survive, labourers rather than nursemaids and butlers.”

           Enavir mulled over this information during the remainder of the journey back to Hasmal.   Once in sight of the city he rode away to a raised vantage point, took out the crystal and called Dorian.

           “You’ll be pleased to know your servants have arrived safely in Hasmal.”

           “Not mine anymore, they’re free remember?”

           “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your noble gesture.   I’m more concerned with what’s going on in Tevinter.  The border guards have been withdrawn.   If I hadn’t taken the initiative and crossed the border, the caravan might have fallen to bandits.   What’s the real situation?”

           There was a pause before Dorian sighed and responded.

           “Major civil unrest and it would seem right across the Imperium.”

           “How bad is it?”

           “Enough to keep our city guards fully occupied.   It started with random murders of nobles over the last few weeks.   That’s why I’ve been a bit pre-occupied when talking with you.   We were puzzled why they were being targeted and who was responsible.”

           “I reckon I could give an educated guess.”

           “So could I now. Previously we thought it was just typical Tevinter political treachery.   It had everyone on edge and watching their backs, sowing mistrust. Then two nights back, at the last full moon, was when it started in earnest.   Do you suppose that could have been the signal?”

           “If it was, then the Qunari have planned this exactly.   Any sign of them?”

           “Not yet.”

           “Be prepared.   Something _will_ happen soon.   Please take of yourself care love.”

           He signed off and rode back to his party and beckoned over his captains.  

           “There is civil unrest right across Tevinter. I’ve a very bad feeling about this. I’m convinced the Qunari are about to attack. Ashavaise and Valendriel, we need to leave you now.   You shouldn’t have too many problems after Hasmal.   Don’t say anything in Hasmal, just get as far away from the border as you can.   Wait until you’re well on the way to Tantervale before you reveal anything to the others.   I’ll be using the sending stone to warn our clan in Starkhaven and keep them updated, so when you get back check they’ve informed Prince Sebastian.”

           “Why should he worry about a war in Tevinter?”

           “It may spread.   Besides you never can tell with the Qunari; they could attack elsewhere in the hope of catching the southern states off guard. I’ll be warning Wycome and Kirkwall too. Remember we still don’t know how many agents they’ve got in our cities.     Be wary and watch for trouble.”

           They bid their adieus to the troops who were to accompany the caravan to Starkhaven and wheeled their horses back along the trail.   Enavir wanted them to cover at least ten miles north before they stopped for the night. Once they were supped and refreshed he called the captains to him again.

           “Odgee seemed to think we would do better to skirt round Perivantium.   By all accounts it is a pretty rough place but that would seem all the more reason to try and liberate the slaves from there.   Any thoughts?”

           “That was our intention in coming the western route wasn’t it?” said Anierin.

           “Yes but I didn’t want to assume anything.   We only thought there might be unrest when we made our plans.   Now we know there is.   It could get ugly.”

           His companions exchanged glances and nodded.

           “We’re with you all the way,” confirmed Cillian. “Let’s head for Perivantium.”

 

          


	12. Chapter 12

          They made good progress northwards for the next two days.   When they camped for the night, Enavir studied his map and was convinced that they could not be more than ten miles from the city, if that, which likely lay just over the ridge to the north of their camp.   They were half way through dinner when Dorian called.

          “We’re under attack; the Qunari have assaulted the mainland.”

           “Where are you now?   Are you okay?”

           “I’m still in Qarinus.   The attack began shortly after dark.   The fools in Minrathous had been stalling over sending levies to shore up our defences in the east; they thought my demands were just to boost the power of the Magisters on this side of the Nocen Sea, Kaffas.   I at least wanted to ensure our forces were prepared should the worse occur and put the locals on alert to possible danger.   After our conversation two nights ago, I managed to stir them into action. Just as well I did.   When Qunari forces started pouring out of the east, at least the majority were able to escape inside the city walls.   Thank the Maker for our dwarven embassy here.   They’ve no more wish to be ruled by the Qun than we are and managed to strengthen the walls in advance of the attack.   We’ve enough mages manning the walls and the harbour that they are holding off making a direct attack but their dreadnoughts appear to have blockaded the Straits and their forces have ringed the city, so basically we’re under siege.”

           “How long can you hold out?”

           “Stocks are good at present, though we could’ve done getting a bit more in if we’re going to hold against an indefinite siege.   Hopefully some relief will arrive before things get too serious.   We managed to get word off to Carastes before they totally shut down our communication.”

           “So you didn’t hear back from them?”

           “Didn’t get the chance.   Nothing gets in or out at present.”

           “Let’s hope they get to you soon.   Keep me posted. You know I’ll go out of my mind with worry if you don’t.”

           “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you in the loop.   No point in keeping secrets now.”

           “Take care.   Maker watch over you.”

           Enavir returned to his company and made the announcement.

           “The Qunari invasion of Tevinter has begun.   Qarinus is under siege.”

           “Well it was hardly unexpected,” said Fenris. “Not by us anyway.  

           “How secure is Qarinus?” asked Josmael.

           “It’ll hold for present.”

           “If the Qunari have already landed forces in the area we will need every soldier we can recruit,” said Cillian.  

           “We haven’t the horses to carry any significant number and foot soldiers will just slow us down.”

           “We also need to secure our rear,” said Fenris.   “Remember the story of Andraste and how she was too anxious to press forward without considering what was going on behind.   I’m guessing that this has been a carefully planned and co-ordinated operation; that is why it wasn’t launched until now.   When Andraste’s army was advancing, it triggered numerous slave revolts across the Imperium.   I think the Qun may have studied our histories and engineered the same.   Previous assaults have failed because the Tevinter forces were able to respond with sufficient numbers to drive them back.   If they hit every major city simultaneously with civil unrest, each regional army would be too engaged in dealing with their own problems to respond to anyone else’s.”

           “That would appear to have been the case.”

           “I bet there was particular trouble with the slaves just before the Qunari appeared.    Check with your lover.”

           Enavir did as suggested.

           “So soon Amatus?   I really am okay.”

           “I just wanted to reassure myself.”

           “So what did you want to talk about?”

           “Any trouble from your servants?”

           “Funny you should ask about that.   _My_ Liberati have been very loyal.   I suppose I have you to thank for that.   They even warned me about a plot again Maevaris that they had got wind of.   A slave she had known since childhood who had been turned by Qun agents.   His interrogation in turn led on to some more arrests.”

           “Interrogation? You mean torture.”

           “I don’t like the idea any more than you do but this is war.   I can’t say it has exactly endeared us to the slave population and tensions are running pretty high but we haven’t lost control yet.”

           “Be careful.”

           “I’ll do my best.”

           He returned to his captains.

           “Fenris was right, in Qarinus at least.   Dorian freeing his slaves seems to have tipped the balance in his favour and so he was able to narrowly avert a rebellion behind their lines, stirred up by Qunari agents.   We should head for Perivantium, if nothing else to check if the rebellion in Qarinus was a localised affair or if it is more widespread.   When we have more information, we can decide our next move.”

           Around midnight there was a tremendous bang and the night sky lit up, first with a bright white flash and then a plume of cloud shooting upwards into the sky.

           “That’s not a simple gaatlok explosion,” said Fenris.   “The last time I witnessed something like that was when Anders blew up the Chantry.   He boosted it with magic.”

           “Shit,” said Enavir forcefully. “You know what that means.”

           “Tears in the Veil and demons pouring through,” confirmed Cillian.

           “And I no longer have the anchor.”

           “But you do have us,” said Josmael. “That’s what we’ve been training for all these months.   At least the Fade Hunters won’t be nearly killing _you_.” He winked.

           “Agreed,” Enavir grinned back. “Let’s go then.”

           They saddled up and rode forward with misgivings about what they would find. There was a dull red glow that continued to illuminate the horizon, and as they drew nearer they could see smoke rising against it.   As they breasted the ridge, they saw the city was burning, or the highest part of it was, which Enavir guessed was likely to be the residence of the nobility.   Screams were carried to them on the wind that indicated the conflict was not yet over.

           “Okay,” called Enavir. “Let’s remind ourselves of what we are likely to encounter.”

           “Rage demons, despair demons, fear demons,” stated Josmael.

           “Protect from fire and ice attacks,” confirmed Anierin.

           “Pride demons,” added Atisha. “They will use even stronger magical attacks and so the need for additional care and defences.”

           “Potential undead,” added Cillian. “Watch for revenants.”

           “Abominations,” Fenris reminded them. “Even without them, you need to beware blood mages.   You’ll not have encountered anything like them down south and they won’t be worried about who gets caught in their attacks.”         

           “Take them down as fast as you can,” said Enavir. “No niceties; just do what has to be done.”

           As they neared the city they saw the main gates were open and people were running for their lives.   Behind them followed shades and Enavir could hear the blood curdling shriek of terror demons from just beyond the walls.   A moment later they emerged from the ground in front of the terrified refugees.

           “Dismount,” yelled Enavir. “Let the horses run free.”

           He knew they couldn’t risk the horses being spooked by the demons and they would naturally return to the auxiliary squads who were lagging behind them.   On his command, his companions vaulted to the ground and archers started to take aim.   Atisha, Cillian and the other mages started to cast protective wards, whilst Fenris simply took off at a run towards the nearest group of demons, barrelling into them just before their reached their prey.   He was shortly followed by Cillian, who focussed on the terror demons.  

           Enavir kept firing arrow after arrow, trying to attract the demons’ attention to himself and away from the defenceless citizens.   A terror demon emerged almost directly under him and sent him sprawling on his back, his bow string breaking as he did so.   He quickly went into a crouch, hit the button on his metal arm to release the bow before grabbing the hilt of Glandivalis and sweeping it out from its scabbard and slicing it deftly through the legs of the demon.   It disappeared with a final scream.

           The confrontation had taken only a matter of minutes and they had successfully protected the people with only minor scratches to show for it.

           “Get as far away as you can,” he yelled to the citizens.   “Well done everyone. That was just a taster though. We’ll split three ways when we get inside.   Greater numbers will be a disadvantage in the narrow confines of the streets and we can cover ground quicker that way. Enansal and Anierin go left; Josmael and Atisha go right; I’ll take the centre with Fenris, Cillian and his squad.   Make for the citadel and we’ll regroup there.”

           They ran forwards, watching for danger.   At each intersection they checked the side routes for signs of life or demons.   Enavir also called out as loudly as he could to encourage the inhabitants to show themselves.   So far as they could tell many of the buildings had been abandoned, either by the people they had already saved or those they were yet to find.   Alternatively the occupants were dead.   There wasn’t time to check.   The screams could still be heard up ahead, so they hurried forward, dealing with any demons as they encountered them and rescuing any citizens they found.   Progress was slow and the sun was rising over the city by the time they reached the plaza in front of the next set of gates.

           As they neared the gates to the citadel the cries stopped and there was an unnerving silence, broken only by the cracking of the flames that still reached to the sky and the occasional rumble of falling masonry.   The gates were closed and guarded by a mixed group of humans and elves, sheltering behind a barricade. Enavir waited for his other squads to join them, then leaving the majority of them out of range of the inner walls, he continued forward with just Cillian and Fenris.   He watched the walls warily for signs of bowmen or mages but none appeared.   The guards took a defensive stance and looked threateningly at them.

         “No closer,” one of them called, a brutish looking human with a bandaged head.   “If you’ve come on behalf of the Imperium, you’re too late.”

           Enavir removed his helmet and tossed back his hair.

           “Do I look like an Imperial trooper?”

           “They’ve been known to use elves when it suits them to.   If you’re not here on behalf of the Imperium, who are you?”

           “Free riders trying to make sense of what is going on.   We heard an explosion last night. What happened?”

           “A little surprise we rigged in their magic store.” He laughed. “Now we’re in charge.   See how they like wearing chains.” More laughter; his companions joined in.

           “Well this is a turn up,” muttered Cillian.   “When you said free the slaves, I didn’t think we’d be liberating the nobility.”

           “Leave them,” said Fenris.   “We’re done here.   That thug is no Qunari.”

           “Not so fast,” said Enavir quietly.   “Who is to say everyone wants him in charge?   We may yet find recruits here.” He raised his voice. “Why are you guarding the gate?”

           “To keep the buggers inside.   Let them burn.   That’s the last time they’ll use their demon summoning on us.”

           “I heard screams that sounded like women and children.”

           The ringleader shrugged and smiled nastily. “So what?”

           Enavir felt a chill run down his spine and he was uncomfortably reminded of the burning of Halamshiral by the Empress Celene.   Except this time it wasn’t callous nobles who were responsible for the atrocity but the slaves he had come to free.     He shook his head, closed his eyes and composed himself. It wouldn’t help anyone if he lost his temper.   He looked back at the leader.

           “How many dead in the citadel?”

           “Enough.   Some objected to the change of regime, including the ones who encouraged us to go for it.   They were liars; they told us no one would come to try and take it away from us until their leaders came to liberate us.   They also objected to the killings; something about waste.   Hang their waste and their leaders.   We’re already free.”

           Enavir glanced back to Fenris.   “That will be your Qunari agents.”   He turned his attention back to the man and replaced his helmet.   “How long for?”

           “What’s that?   You think you and your miserable bunch of pony soldiers are going to take it away from us?”

           “Not at all,” Enavir replied calm and conversational.   “I was asking about the number of dead because of the Veil.”

           “Veil?”

           “Of course, you aren’t a mage, so probably have never even heard of such things. You see, when a large number of deaths occur in a very small area, like a city, particularly if that city has also previously housed a large number of magic users, then it thins the Veil between this world and the Fade, so much so that it allows demons to pass through. It’s already been happening further back in the city.”

           “That will be the mages’ fault.”

           “I don’t think so. In any case, they will still come through even without a mage to summon them.   Still I’m sure you fellows have got it all under control, so I’ll just be going.”

           “Wait!”

           There was a hurried conversation between the soldiers.   The ring leader looked back at him.

           “We’re opening the gate.   If you want to check inside then go ahead.”

           “Are you sure this is wise?” said Cillian.  

           “I just want to take a look around and get an idea of the situation.   The bit about the Veil is true enough isn’t it?   We need to stabilise things here if nothing else.   I don’t want demons constantly harrying our rear any more than I do Qunari.”

           The gates swung open and the ring leader stepped aside to wave them through.

           “I’m Hagar,” he said.

           “Revassan,” Enavir nodded to him. “With you leave, we’ll make a tour of the citadel and give you our opinion on the situation.”

           “Go ahead.”

           Enavir beckoned to the others to follow as the three of them strode forwards past the initial guard at the gate.   The elves in particular stared at them curiously as they marched past.   Whatever Hagar liked to maintain, it was clear they found the sight of armed elven warriors unusual.  

           Inside there was clear evidence that the people within had tried to escape but had been torn apart, trapped against the gates. He felt a lump in his throat as he saw the bodies of children among them. The demons still prowled the courtyard but his company made short work of them.   With the rising of the sun, the threat of further appearances by Fade creatures started to recede.   People who had survived the night began to emerge from the buildings.   They mostly seemed slave fighters who had retreated in the face of the demons.  

           As they continued on up the main thoroughfare and it was a grim sight.   Everywhere bodies lay massacred and unburied, most seemed recently dead but not all and there was a stench of rottenness that increased as the sun rose and with it the heat.  

           They reached what was evidently the main plaza and the body count rose.   It was clear that it was the location of a pitched battle between the rebel slaves and the Imperial soldiers.   Groups of slave survivors loitered in doorways, some armed, others clearly just glad to be alive.   There was no sign of any surviving soldiers.

           Steps led up to the main keep of the nobility.   The buildings were still ablaze and it was clear that anyone who hadn’t escaped in the night would have been burned to death. A large group of women, children and a few elderly men were herded together and chained here, clearly captured as they had fled.   Some of the women had an empty glazed look as though their minds had been broken by what they had endured; he guessed they had probably been raped, though may be it was just witnessing what had happened to the rest.   Nearby were a pile of bodies that may once have been clothed in fine silks but these were now so bloodied it was hard to tell. The bodies had been hacked to pieces in what must have been a frenzied attack.  

           Enavir felt sick to his stomach at the carnage.   What did it matter if years of brutal oppression had caused them to die in this way; people had still suffered and died here.     It looked as though demons had been at work here but he knew that the responsibility lay with ordinary mortals or the prisoners would not still be alive. He recalled that spirits only mirrored what they saw in the world; the origin of the evil did not lie beyond the Veil.  

           “I’ve seen enough,” he said abruptly. “Atisha and our other healers, see what can be done for these people.   Joss and Enansal stay with them.”

           He turned about and walked back to the gate.  

           “Well?” said Hagar.

           “Maker forgive you for what has been done here.”

           “Piss on his forgiveness.   What has he ever done for us?   Are we in any danger?”

           “Come nightfall every one of those corpses will rise, I’ll guarantee that.   You need to burn them.   Luckily your work has already been done for you in the main keep.     Even then the Veil will be dangerously thin for some time to come.   If I were you, I’d abandon here altogether.   Leave it for whoever comes to claim it.   Whether the Imperium or the Qunari you won’t stand a chance.   Your best bet is either to flee south or come with me.”

           “Where are you going?”

           “North, I’ve business there of my own.”

           Hagar spat on the ground. “No, I’ll stick here I think.   We’ll burn the bodies and take our chance with the Veil.”

           “Suit yourself,” said Enavir mildly, then raised his voice. “What about the rest of you? Want to join my band?”

           “What do you think you’re doing? They take their orders from me.”

           Fenris stalked towards him, his hand already glowing.

           “Not anymore,” he declared and punched it into Hagar’s chest.   It sank in as easily as into butter and Fenris tore out his heart.

           Enavir and Cillian exchanged wide eyed glances; they had heard what Fenris could allegedly do with his lyrium brands but had never previously witnessed a demonstration.   The hairs rose on the back of Enavir’s neck.     Looking at the faces of Hagar’s companions they were equally awed.

           “Don’t like slavers in any form,” Fenris glared at them. “He’s no better than the Magisters he replaced and you should start taking responsibility for yourselves.   If you don’t want corpses hacking you to death tonight, I suggest you start burning the bodies.”

           “Why don’t you if you’re so concerned?” asked one elf.

           “I didn’t kill them,” he looked down at Hagar. “I’ll burn him.”

           “Easily accomplished,” said Cillian.   “Stand back.”

           He brandished his staff and Hagar went up in flames.

           “Flashy bastard,” muttered Fenris.

           It took until well past noon for all the bodies to be gathered and set aflame.   In the interim he organised his troops to help prepare the evacuation of the city.   Cillian, Atisha and the other mages circulated about the injured healing their wounds. Anierin and Enansal had discovered that there was a merchants’ quarter, still largely untouched by the fighting, or demons, where there were wagons and horses, so he set their squads to harnessing them up and assembling them outside the city gates.   They also commandeered any carriages and horses they could find from the estates of nobles and gathered as much of the remaining food stores as the wagons could hold.

           What remained of the ruling class of Perivantium were freed of their chains.   He also discovered some surviving soldiers who had been locked up, awaiting a decision as to their fate by Hagar.   They were also healed and allowed to join their nobles.     All the survivors were then directed to the plain outside the city gates, where Enavir addressed them.

           “I will not judge anyone for what has passed here.   Any former slaves who wish to join my company are welcome to do so. Let it be understood, though, that you will be asked to swear to our code and keep to it.   As for the rest, I suggest you head south and whatever life you can make for yourself.   Be warned though, it won’t be easy, particularly for an elf.   As for the former rulers of this city, you are free to go as well.   You will be given carriages enough to carry you to Solas or wherever else you wish to go.   It is probably only fair to warn you that this uprising was not confined to Perivantium and I have no idea how successful it may have been in the rest of the Imperium.   You have an hour to make your decision and then we will depart.   I want to be as far as possible from this place by nightfall.”

           Of the previous inhabitants of the city there had been only five thousand survivors, from a city that had previously housed twelve. One hundred and fifty of these were nobles and Imperial soldiers, a further five hundred Soporati peasants and the remainder slaves.    

           The human slaves, around a thousand, with a few exceptions, all elected to head south.   No doubt they were awed by seeing so many elven warriors and also at the prospect of taking orders from them.   By contrast the elves seemed more inclined to take their chances with Enavir.   This presented something of a problem since there were some non-combatants among them but not as many as Enavir had expected.  

           Apparently the hard life meant there were few children and even fewer elderly.   Even those capable of fighting had little experience but clearly made up in aggression what they lacked in skill.     They swore to the code willingly enough, though Enavir wondered if they would keep to it.

           The increased numbers necessitated rearranging their company.   The riding horses of the auxiliaries and even their pack animals were now used to carry new recruits that showed themselves capable of staying in the saddle.   That amounted to twenty more riders, plus a further fifty from riding horses found in the city.   Their auxiliaries now drove the wagons, with the assistance of the new recruits.   There were sixty wagons in all; two to carry their spare gear and miscellaneous items of use, such as potions, blankets and tents.   Eight carried food stores for both soldiers and animals.   Fifty were left for the remaining elves.   There were not enough for everyone to use, even cramped together, but most were able and willing to walk for a stretch and then swap with others.  

           This slowed their progress to half their original speed and Enavir fretted in private over how long it would take them to reach Qarinus but didn’t reveal his concerns to the rest of his company whose morale was high at having liberated so many elven slaves with so little cost to themselves.   He had to admit that to have increased his forces without any casualties to his original band was something of a miracle.   It was clear from his conversations with Dorian that they would have been little use to him without them and would need to increase them further still if they were to break the siege of Qarinus or retake Arlathan Forest, which clearly must now be under the control of the Qunari.   At each stage he had been given the opportunity to take an easier option and in rejecting it, had found it had been to his benefit.   So now he realised he must trust to his luck, or fate, or the Maker that the slower course would ultimately be the best one.

            Whilst they clearly respected Enavir and acknowledged him enthusiastically when he passed near them, it was clear the newcomers’ greatest reverence was reserved for Fenris. Word had obviously gone around about what he had done with Hagar but Fenris had also been persuaded to recount his time as a slave, how he had come by his peculiar markings and his escape.   Enavir had to admit that it had been a remarkable life and, apart from Hawke’s assistance, had been entirely down to his own efforts, which he admired.

           Enavir was still troubled by what they had witnessed in Perivantium.   He recalled his mother’s words about how people do terrible things in war but it still concerned him that the majority of his force was now comprised of the people who had committed those atrocities.   It was little consolation they had sworn to his code.   If they chose to ignore it, he could do little about it.   He couldn’t discuss his misgivings with Dorian as it would mean revealing their actions in coming north.   Instead he sought out Fenris.

           “Dorian once said to me that I had no idea what it was to be a slave.   It is ironic really because he was defending slavery and I felt insulted he had no idea why I had such objections to it, yet now I feel that he may have been right about me.   How bad is it?”

           “Why do you ask?”

           “I’m still having a problem with what occurred in Perivantium.   I said I wouldn’t judge people but I keep remembering the bodies of those children and hearing the screams.   One of my former companions was Tal’Vashoth, that was my doing, but he was originally a Ben’Hassrath on Seheron.  When he spoke about there, he was still defending the Qunari presence but his hatred for the Vints, as he called them, and the Tal’Vashoth wasn’t simply based on the dogma of the Qun.   It was because of what he had seen them do.   He was on Seheron for nearly ten years.”

           “That long?   Most people break down after two.”

           “Exactly,” agreed Enavir.   “He was good at his job and fair.   He didn’t like punishing local citizens for rebelling and he won their loyalty and respect as a result.   It seemed to everyone that he was unshakeable.   Then a group of Tal’Vashoth rebels poisoned a school full of children and he lost it.   He stormed into the jungle stronghold without adequate preparation, leading his squad.   When a friend fell in front of him, he finally snapped.   He slaughtered anyone who came at him.   It was carnage.   When the Ben’Hassrath sent agents to recover him, he turned himself over for re-education.   That’s when they reassigned him south as a spy.   I’ve been thinking about his story.   Could that be me?   Might I finally lose it and kill in that way?   Is that what happened with these slaves?”

           “Why don’t you ask them yourself?”

           He indicated Enavir should follow him and led him to a small group of the refugees from Perivantium.   He recognised them as having been with Hagar at the gate.   Fenris raised his hand in greeting and they invited them to sit.

           “If you don’t object, Enavir has a few questions.   Go ahead.”

           “What are you names?”

           “I’m Chroix,” said one, a stocky looking elf, “On account of my arms.”

           He held them up to show ugly scars criss-crossed up their length.

           “Got these when I was much younger,” he said.   He looked around forty years of age. “I got sent here when I decided to object.   Caved in the head of the Magister one day when he was off his guard.”

           “And they let you live?”

           “I got lucky, depending on your point of view.   The guy investigating it was one of his political rivals, so he declared it an accident and sent me to the mines instead.   I’ve been here fifteen years. There’s not many who’ve lasted as long as I have but I’m a survivor.”

           “In other words, he’s a tough bastard,” one of his companions said with a grin.   He was one of the few humans who had elected to stay with them after Perivantium.   “I’m Farex. I was born a slave and raised in the household of a leading Magister.   He seemed a good sort until I was old enough that I was no longer a skinny kid but had muscles in all the right places.   One of his friends wanted a personal servant, if you know what mean.   He took a fancy to me, so my old master sold me on.”

           “You mean he knew what he wanted you for? I thought that sort of thing was meant to be kept secret.”

           “Secret, what sort of garbage has someone been feeding you?   You keep it secret if you are fucking another noble.   Slaves are an entirely different matter so long as you make sure you produce at least one legitimate heir with your official spouse.   Mostly it is only known about within the household but it is not scandalous for your friends to be involved, providing you’re not actually doing it with them.   They even encourage the practice and hold cosy little orgies where they parade their latest favourite for others to admire and then use them as currency in games of chance. The winner gets to use the loser’s slave as they wish on the night or, depending on the bet, becomes their property.   The slave, of course, has no say in the matter whatsoever.”

           “You mean they raped you?”

           “You really catch on quick, don’t you?” Farex responded with sarcasm. “It’s always rape when you’re a slave, male or female, whatever your own inclinations are.   Do you think you’re allowed to refuse if your owner takes a fancy to you?   Some do it willingly, even go out of their way to encourage it, but they are the collaborators.   Trying to use their looks to move up in the world at the expense of everyone else,” he said venomously and spat on the ground.   “So because some seem okay with the idea, those with any sort of conscience about it can kid themselves that the rest are happy with the situation too.   They call them _favoured_ slaves because they have the honour of being fucked by a Magister.” He gave a twisted smile.   “I declined the honour repeatedly, ran away, got re-captured, thought about killing myself but wouldn’t give them that victory over me.   Then I realised the one place the slave hunters wouldn’t think of looking for me was among the Servus Publicus. I didn’t entirely escape unwanted attention but I could deal with it on my terms.”

           His handsome face had chiselled features, dark eyes that would do credit to any elf and sensuous pouty lips, while his strongly muscled body had only been enhanced by manual labour.   Enavir recalled how Lauren had been similarly exploited for her looks.

           Farex’s story made him feel particularly uncomfortable when he thought about the attitude the nobility of Tevinter had towards ‘favoured’ slaves and Dorian’s defence of slavery.   How could he not know?   Yet he found it hard to credit that Dorian would still condone slavery if he did.   Was Farex right? Was it simply self-deception and seeing what you wanted to believe?

           “Polis,” said another elf, aged around thirty. In contrast to Farex, his features were not particularly attractive. There was a chilling intensity in the gaze of his pale blue eyes and a set to his mouth that suggested he seldom had cause to smile.   “I was sold by my father to pay his debts.”

           “I’ve heard of that before.   People selling themselves or their family; it seems common practice in Tevinter.”

           “I wasn’t in Tevinter.   My family is from Antiva.” He gave a twisted smile as he saw the look of shock on Enavir’s face. “Did no one ever tell you how the slavers acquire their merchandise outside Tevinter?”

           “I thought it was through raids on isolated villages and coastal settlements or kidnapping people from the slums, lonely individuals whom no one will miss.”

           Polis spat. “Nah, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Crows.   Well, they are up to the necks in it.   Great little scam on their part.   They demand protection money or take on gambling debts, anything that will make you beholden to them; then they pressure you to pay up.   When you can’t afford it they suggest alternatives.” He sneered.   “I was the result.”

           “Don’t people ever object?”

           “Occasionally but you don’t cross the Crows; they simply wind up dead and then their whole family is taken.   That pretty soon puts a stop to any objections.   They also run the majority of the brothels in Antiva.   All that sexual activity, well it’s bound to end up in children if you don’t prevent it.   Crows have a vested interest in allowing them to go to full term.   A lovely breeding program for them, with no parents to object, the whores have no choice but to comply, you see.”

           “And they sell them as slaves when they’re old enough?”

           “Not all, they keep some for themselves.   The really pretty ones or the ones they can see have the right type of guile for their Talons.   The rest get shipped off to Tevinter.”

           “What about the authorities?”

           “The Crows _run_ Antiva and in any case what do the nobility care if the Crows want to traffic in the children of peasants and whores?”

           “It was the same in Kirkwall when Hawke got there,” said Fenris. “The slavers were operating with impunity out of Darktown, with links to the Carta and the Raiders.   Initially they were preying on refugees from the Blight but we were still running into them years later.   Tevinter may be the reason they run slaves but those criminals are why Tevinter feels we are expendable.   How do you suppose Hessarian made good the loss of all those elven slaves?   Some were likely even captured on the Long March but they took humans too.”

           “So you see, that’s why we don’t feel particularly merciful towards other people,” said Chroix.   “I’m from Seheron and you should see what they do to rebels.   That’s why so many elves join the Qun over there; why we went along with them initially here, because they aren’t Tevinter or their southern collaborators.”

           “There never seemed an alternative,” agreed Farex, “until you turned up.   May be there is another way.”

           “Hagar didn’t seem to recognise us as any different.”

           “He was a brute but then he was also human,” said Polis with a smirk at Farex. “He hadn’t heard the stories of the elves who wouldn’t surrender.   Honestly, I thought my old mother’s tales were just fanciful but then I saw the markings on your faces.   The sign of the elves that refused to submit.”

           Enavir and Fenris exchanged glances, acknowledging the irony of that declaration in the light of what he had discovered about the Evanuris.

           “She swore that one day they would return for us and lead us to freedom,” continued Polis.   “It just seemed once more comforting myth to sustain us and then you turned up, walking out of legend.   If you want us to live by your code, I’ll give it a go.”

           “Fenris says you have a special sword too,” said Chroix.   “May we see it?”

           “Of course,” said Enavir, “Be my guest.”

           He drew Glandivalis and handed it over.   Chroix ran his hands along the flat of the blade in reverential fashion, peering at the runes, before passing it onto Farex and from him to Polis.

           “Fenris says it belonged to Shartan,” said Polis.   “Is that true?”

           “Fenris should know, he was the one who recovered it.”

           “I gave it to Enavir as a sign of respect,” said Fenris.   “The style of the blade is an ancient one and those are elven runes.   Cillian has confirmed their authenticity.”

           They passed the sword around the rest of the group and then returned it to Enavir.

           “It’s enough to make you believe in divine providence,” said Chroix.   “We have legends on Seheron too but things have been bad there for so long now, you start thinking it could not possibly be any different.   Now I’m not so sure.”

           “What’s that word you use,” asked Polis.   “Fenris says it is a statement of hope.”

           “Telanadas,” said Enavir.   “Nothing is inevitable.”

           “Hmm,” Polis looked reflective. “You could take that either way.   Legends could come true or they may not.”

           “There is no fate,” agreed Enavir. “If you want things to happen, you have to work for them and never stop believing that they are possible.   In my case I believe it is possible for us to create a better world, without totally destroying the current one.   Now I just have to prove it.”

           “We’ll give it a shot too,” said Chroix.   “To be honest I’m glad you took out Hagar.   At least I’ll not have to live out my days in that shit hole of a city.   A change of scenery will go a long way to changing my outlook on life.”

           They bid them adieu and Fenris walked with him out to the perimeter of the camp.

           “So how do you feel now?”

           “I think I understand them better but in a way it makes me more depressed, to think how the south has been complicit in the slave trade all these years.   I’d read what happened with Loghain in Denerim during the Fifth Blight and thought that was just an aberration because of the peculiar circumstances of the time. The same was true when I discovered a merchant trading in slaves in Val Royeaux, but it has never really stopped has it?   Ever since Andraste and Shartan died, the south has continued to feed the slave trade.”

           “Seems that way,” agreed Fenris.

           “No wonder Shartan says they were both betrayed.   That should have been the first thing that Drakon put a stop to with his precious Chantry.”

           “Publicly they did.”

           “But they still tacitly allowed it.   It is just the same as Tevinter and blood magic.   They claim no one does it, but nearly everyone does.   There is just the _appearance_ of conforming to the ideals of the Chant.    Well I want to make them a reality.   If nothing else I intend to break the slave trade.”

           “That will mean taking on the Crows.   You’ll be a marked man.”

           “That’s no reason not to.”

           “Then I suggest you contact Varric and see if he can track down Zevran.   He was a Crow but wanted out and took up with the Hero of Ferelden.”

           “She said he was with her in a letter I received from her.”

           “That should make it easier then.   When we met him they had split up for a time because the Crows were on his trail.  You don’t leave the Crows, you see. It is its own form of slavery. They sent people after him but they wound up dead.   Then he decided to do something really audacious and hunt down the leading Crows in retaliation.   Crafty devils tried to involve Hawke and me in tracking him down.   Clan Sabrae assisted him in evading them and enlightened us as to his true nature.   So we helped him take out his pursuers instead.   He helped us in the final battle against Meredith and then disappeared.   If you could make contact with him, he could definitely help against them.

           “I’ll bear that in mind.”   He paused, considering the other revelations that had been brought to light by the slaves.   “Were you ever used like Farex?”

           “Thankfully I can’t remember clearly but Denarius hinted as much.”

           “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.   Do you think of me as a collaborator?”

           “I was myself once before I came to my senses. I wouldn’t call you one, since he wasn’t a Magister when you first knew him, but I’d not advertise your relationship with Dorian just yet.   Let the slaves come to know you as I have before you break it to them.”


	13. Chapter 13

           It took ten days to cross the expanse of plains between Perivantium and Marothius. They encountered no patrols or anything else to threaten them.   From time to time the hunters would ride off in search of fresh meat, which greatly raised spirits and enabled them to conserve the supplies on the wagons.   The time passed also allowed the former slaves to become combat fit and hone their weapon skills.   Those who couldn’t fight were instructed in crafting weapons and armour or mending them.   Around the campfires at night, he and his companions would recount stories of the elven heroes and teach them songs.   Listening to the voices of the newcomers lifted in faltering song touched Enavir’s heart.   He imagined they hadn’t had much to sing about in their former lives.  

           After the first seven days the land became less arid and took on a greener hue.   This made life a lot more pleasant and benefitted the horses as they could eat grass at every halt.    It had the added benefit that their passage didn’t raise such vast dust plumes, so they were less likely to give potential enemies advance warning of their approach.   Once again, had they wished, they could have avoided Marothius altogether but Enavir decided it was best to stick with the plan that had worked so well up to now.   When the scouts returned to say that Marothius was less than half a day away, Enavir elected to ride ahead of the main wagon train with his cavalry, leaving the rest to follow on at their leisure.

           The approach to the city was in stark contrast to their previous experience.   There was no sign of conflict or destruction; as they neared the gates it was clear that people were still going about their usual work and there was no barrier to their entry.   Even so, Enavir felt that they should still exercise caution and leaving the majority waiting outside the gates, he proceeded onwards with Cillian, Fenris and a dozen of his best Dalish archers.

           As they passed along the main thoroughfare, Fenris gave a barely susceptible nod in the direction of a group loading some carts. Enavir casually looked about him until his gaze reached the group that Fenris was indicating.   The workers were human and appeared finely dressed for mere labourers; they also gave no indication of interest in the passage of their party, even though others on the street took notice. Enavir frowned back at Fenris but the latter pursed his lips, warning him to silence.

           A party of elves approached them, led by a female, glad in leathers.   She had a swagger to her walk and an air of confidence not common among slaves.   Holding up her hand in greeting, she called to them.

           “Greetings travellers.”

           “Leave this to me,” whispered Fenris and urged his horse forward. “Shanedan Viddathari.”

           “Shanedan.   We had not thought to see fellow Shokraker so soon.”

           “Perivantium is secured.   We thought to travel north to offer our assistance but you seem to have this city well under control.”

           “It is early days. Most are still kabethari, freed of the yoke but do not yet embrace the Qun.   They are happy enough to work for our cause.”

           “Was there no resistance?”

           “A few but we dealt with them.   The Kith used qamek on the hopeless cases, the bas saarebas.   The others have been rounded up and taken north for re-education.”

           “The Kith is no longer here?”

           “Qarinus is proving a tougher nut to crack.   All those capable of fighting have been taken north to bolster the Antaam. With greater numbers they will break the deadlock and overwhelm the defences.”

           “How many days are they ahead of us?”

           “No more than a day. They are on foot and must pace themselves to the Kabethari.”

           “We will follow them then and aid our victory.”

           He turned his horse and as he did so her gaze fell on Cillian.

           “Where is his Arvaraad?”

           She looked to Enavir and seemed to recognise something about him.   He realised she had noticed his vallaslin and it was different from the tattoos on Fenris.

           “Vinek Kathas.”

           “The game’s up lads,” he yelled as he swept out Glandivalis.

           The mounted archers kicked their horses into a gallop and surged forward, as soldiers appeared to aid the reception party. Cillian vaulted from his horse and trapped the legs of the party with vines before making a sweep with his staff that sent lightening dancing from one soldiers to the next. Fenris was already dismounted and plunging in with his great sword.  

           Enavir ran through the speaker from the back of his horse, before dismounting and tumbling out of the path of a second set of soldiers, before sheathing Glandivalis and grabbing his bow, clicking it into place in his left hand.   He found he had lost little of his old speed as he drew one arrow after another in quick succession and found his target.  

           The battle was brought to a swift conclusion; Enavir’s forces seemingly far more seasoned warriors than their opponents.   He was thankful they were all still alive, although two of his archers had taken injuries.   Cillian was dealing with these when they heard the sound of hooves and saw a rider race out of a side street and down towards the main gate.   Enavir wrenched an arrow from one of the dead soldiers and aimed at the departing figure.   Just as the rider reached the gate, he loosed the arrow. It struck them square in the back and they tumbled off.

           “I see you definitely haven’t lost your touch,” grinned Cillian.

           “It was a pity it had to end so violently.”

           “It could hardly have gone any other way with the Qun,” said Fenris ruefully. “We couldn’t have left her here.   She was no recent viddathari; she’s probably been here for years, waiting for the signal.”

           “What was that about the Kith?”

           “A small advanced guard of Qunari soldiers, probably sent south from the main group to check on progress and gather up forces as she said.   They will be the real deal.   Still from what she says, if she told the truth, if we can break their hold on the kabethari we could still sway them back to our cause.   That word means ‘simple people’.   It’s what they call those people they have conquered and are serving them willingly enough but are not yet indoctrinated.”

           “What do we do about the people still here?”

           He noticed that a crowd was beginning to gather at the perimeter of the area they were occupying.   They looked confused and fearful; newly liberated slaves who still looked to others for guidance.

           “It’s up to you.   The Kith have imprisoned or subdued their overlords and we’ve just slain their leaders. You could just leave them or invite them along like you did the others.”

           “We need to catch up with the main force though.”

           “Then how about leaving a few of our lads here to organise them and they can join our main caravan when it arrives?”

           “Sounds good to me,” said Cillian.   “That will still leave us with the bulk of our mounted forces.   How big is a Kith?”

           “Probably much the same as our own,” replied Fenris.

           “Then that’s what we’ll do,” said Enavir.  

           He remounted the horse and slowly circled the area.

           “Don’t be afraid.   We’re not going to harm you or force you to do anything against your will.   If you would rather stay here and wait for the return of the Imperium, that is your choice.   The Qun made you false promises.   With them you would never be free and your lives would not be your own.   If you truly desire freedom, then come, follow me.”

           “Who are you?” called a voice.

           “I am Enavir, Pathfinder **.**    I bear the sword of Shartan, to fulfil the command laid upon him. ‘Free our people’.   If you wish to number among them, gather your things and join the rest of our people when they arrive.”

           With that he waved his companions to follow him and started back towards the gate.   As they reached the cart, the nobles continued to load it without looking up.

           “They used qamek on them,” said Fenris.   “They must have been mages. With them they don’t even try to re-educate; they consider them already hopeless and irredeemable.   It turns them into mindless drones, even worse than making them tranquil.”

           “Poor bastards,” said Cillian.

           “Poor Dorian if we don’t get there before they do,” said Enavir with feeling. “Come, there’s no time to lose.”

**********

That night his conversation with Dorian only added to his anxiety; there had been new developments outside Qarinus.

            “They have been building siege equipment since first light, having brought the materials they needed from the east.   Looks like they must have come via Arlathan Forest as there isn’t anywhere else they could have acquired sufficient timber.”

            “Seems logical,” agreed Enavir, acknowledging silently that they had guessed correctly about the progress of the Qun.

            “They are also assembling cannons that they likely imported by the same route.   I don’t know about the other cities but clearly they will stop at nothing less than total conquest here.   It could get really ugly.”

            “Promise me you won’t submit to temptation, no matter what happens.”

            “Don’t worry, Amatus, I won’t.”

******

       Anierin and Enansal were already leading the main caravan, so Enavir asked Atisha and Josmael to take charge of organising any refugees from Marothius.   He left them two dozen fighters in case of trouble and then continued on northwards with the rest of his cavalry. If the main column of the slave army controlled by the Qun was only a day’s ride ahead of them, then he judged if they maintained a steady pace they should catch them up by the end of the fourth day, or fifth at the latest.   It was possible the Qun would push them harder but he guessed they would see it as wiser to preserve their energy and morale by keeping to a less punishing schedule.   Qarinus wasn’t going anywhere and they would want their soldiers to be in their best condition for the assault on the city.   Even so, is was of concern to him that they were cutting it rather fine in intercepting them before they got to their main force on the outskirts of Qarinus.   He had to take control of the army while it was still under the command of the Kith.   He still wasn’t absolutely sure how to go about this and admitted as much when Cillian broached the subject.

       “So how are you planning on taking over command of this slave army?”

       “To be honest, I’ve really no idea.”

       “You’re kidding right?”

       “Not really.   I thought I might wing it; it’s worked for me up to now.”

       “Don’t worry,” Fenris assured them. “I’ve a few ideas.”

       “Care to share them?” said Cillian.

       “No.” Fenris grinned back at him.   “Just go with the flow.”

       “Are all heroes this disorganised?”

       “It pays not to be too rigid; you never know what’s around the corner,” said Fenris.   “Actually I tend to find that heroes are no different to everyone else when it comes to making plans; they invariably don’t work out as you thought they would and you have to change them on the fly.   What sets the hero apart is that they don’t let it faze them. That’s what made Hawke Champion; she’d been trying hard to prevent violence with the Arishok but when it happened, she adapted; she had to.”

       “Here’s a good plan,” suggested Enavir. “We just try and stay alive.”

       “Works for me,” said Cillian.

       Luckily it wasn’t difficult to track their quarry which was helpful as instead of hugging the foothills, as Enavir would have done given the choice, they headed across the open plain.   Such a large party could not avoid raising a dust cloud or leaving clear tracks in the form of beaten down grass. There were also deep ruts from supply wagons that travelled with them. The Kith also seemed to want greater haste than Enavir had anticipated and so their scouts finally sighted the army when they were only two days out from Qarinus.   It had been a near run thing but there was no sign of the main Qunari command.  

       “Do you want to take it from here again, Fenris?”

       “Indeed.   You want to conserve the lives of our troops, yes?”

       “Of course.”

       “Then I suggest trying the same tactic I did with Hawke and the Arishok, challenge their leader to a dual.”

       “Will that work?”

       Fenris shrugged. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Only don’t contradict me in anything I say; I may embroider the truth a little.”

       They led their troops in a wide circle around the column of marching soldiers, so it would be confronting their leaders head on when they revealed themselves.   Enavir looked at the size of the army with concern; there must be close on seven thousand individuals, all under the control of the Kith. A great deal was riding on the success of Fenris’ plan.   His own people wouldn’t stand a chance if the bulk of the forces were directed against them. He had to trust to the information from the agent in Marothius, that these were mere kabethari, not yet so committed to the Qun that he could not earn their allegiance, so long as the Kith were removed from control.  

       They raised a flag of truce as they turned their horses and rode to meet them.   Enavir then signalled the bulk of the cavalry to halt and he rode forward with Cillian and Fenris.   The Kith responded in kind and a large horned warrior strode out with two supporters.

       “Atassh Shokra,” said Fenris.

       “That remains to be seen,” responded the Kith leader.   “You have been following us, yet you do not look like Imperium soldiers.   Why?”

       “We came looking for these people; we sought to free them.”

       “We have saved you the trouble. Now they are of the Qun.”

       “It is our understanding that they are kabethari and have yet to make that choice.”

       “They are viddathari.”

       “Would you allow us to speak with them?”

       “They are of the Qun. They have no need of the words of a bas.”

       “Then my friend wishes to challenge you, to earn that right.”

       The Kith laughed.   “Depart before I grow angry.   The bas has no right to challenge me.”

       “The basalit-an has that right.”

       “What makes your friend worthy of respect?”

       “My friend was named as such by the Arishok before he defeated him.   You see before you the Champion of Kirkwall.” He gestured towards Cillian.

       Enavir raised his eyebrows but gave no other sign of his surprise at this declaration.

       “You lie; the Champion was a female mage.”

       “So you have heard the tale,” Fenris gave a sly smile. “Not from official sources I’ll wager but from bas in the ports.   As you can see our champion is indeed a mage but no doubt they named him female knowing the greater insult it would be to the reputation of the Qun.   Besides, look at him,” again he gestured towards Cillian. “Does he not look weak and thin like a woman, or at least a woman in their eyes?”

       “Not our women,” said the Kith.

       “Indeed.   Yet the Basalit-an would offer challenge for the right to speak with these people.”

       “Agreed.   I accept your challenge.   I will show you he is no Basalit-an.   Death will be a mercy.   They will see the glory of the Qun.   Clear the field.”

       As they turned their horses back, Enavir glanced at Cillian with concern.

       “That is not what I was expecting. Are you ready for this?”

       “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life.   I am ready.”

       He vaulted from the horse and started to rotate his shoulders under his armour, before relaxing into a combat stance, very calm and focussed.   Enavir glared at Fenris.

       “Are you trying to get him killed?” He whispered angrily. “How could you spring that on him?”

       “I didn’t’.   We’d discussed it at length.”

       “Then why didn’t you warn me?”

       “You’d have raised all sorts of objections and insisted on fighting yourself.   Cillian stands a better chance.”

       “A better one?”

       “You sword skills are not nearly as advanced as your bow but that would not serve you in this sort of dual.   A mage would present enough of a problem to that Kith but Cillian is no ordinary mage.   He is an arcane warrior; I think we are about to witness what made Evanuris into gods and so will they.”

       He nodded towards the ranks of soldiers overlooking the battlefield.   The majority of them were elves and they were watching intently.   Even if those further back could not see what was happening, word would spread.

       Enavir realised what Fenris and Cillian had done; Cillian’s actions would speak more eloquently than any words.   Provided he won the battle.   Enavir’s heart started to pound and he prayed silently to the Maker to keep Cillian safe.

       The Kith took up his battle stance holding a massive great axe.   Cillian drew Evanura and the blade started to shimmer as he channelled his magic into the blade. The Kith looked surprised at the sight, clearly not expecting the mage to use a blade as a weapon.   He gave a roar and raced forward, clearly in battle rage but Cillian made no movement and still stood with calm authority as the qunari sped towards him.  

       Enavir could detect the shimmer of his protective barrier as the Kith struck.   It held firm and then suddenly Cillian was no longer in front of the Kith.   He reappeared to the side and released a massive force of the fade against the Kith, which manifested as a fist striking into him from above.   The Kith reeled under the impact and staggered, momentarily dazed.   Cillian strolled forward and struck him with Evanura.   The blade sliced through the armour easily and deep into the Kith’s side. The warrior struck right and left wildly and span on the spot, trying to make contact with his opponent but if he did, it did not slow his progress and Cillian merely winked out of sight again repeatedly and reappeared once more the opposite side of the Qunari, striking with Evanura as he did so.   It was clear now the Kith stood no chance and to prolong the engagement was unnecessarily cruel. Cillian must have realised this to for he called out.

       “Do you yield?”

       “To the death, bas-saarabas, to the death.”

       “Very well.”

       Cillian passed straight through the Kith like smoke, turned and faced him.

       “This is the path of Dirth’ena Enasalin, the knowledge that leads to victory.”

       He stepped past the Kith’s defences and drove the sword into his heart.

       A profound silence fell over the field as though all could scarcely believe what they had seen.   Then the elves in Enavir’s party started to cheer and chant Cillian’s name.

       The Kith second in command looked across at Fenris.

       “What is this Cillian?   You said his name was the Champion.”

       “Is he not a Champion and Basalit-an?” said Fenris. “Your leader was no match for him as the Arishok was no match for Hawke.   The path of the Qun will never lead to victory.”

       “Vinek Kathas,” yelled the qunari.   “We will slay you all.”

       The Qunari rushed forward but the slave soldiers stood their ground.   Arrows flew and many of the Qunari fell dead.   Cillian turned to meet the survivors releasing a chain of lightening that swept through their ranks; Fenris and Enavir joined him on the ground, while the horse archers circled round on their flanks.   It was a short but bloody battle at the end of which the entire Kith squad was dead.  

       As the three captains walked towards the slave army, the ranks parted before them and one by one the soldiers fell on one knee, bowing their heads in respect.   When they reached the end of the line, Enavir turned and addressed them.

       “You are slaves no longer.   The Imperium does not own you; the Qun does not command you.   You are free to choose your own path.   If you wish to join with us, we are travelling north to break the siege on Qarinus, not because we love the Imperium but because we oppose the Qun.     They do not belong on our homeland and we intend to remind them of that.   If you left relatives behind in Marothius, then be assured they are following on and you are free to depart with them wherever you wish when they arrive.   After Qarinus we are heading for Arlathan Forest, to drive out the Qun and reclaim our birth right.   We are clan Revassan. Are you with us?”

       A cry of assent ran around the multitude.

       “Then take this oath.”


	14. Chapter 14

       If Fenris held the allegiance of the slaves from Perevantium, it was clear that Cillian had the loyalty of the elves from Marothius.   The universal markings of June they painted onto their faces in imitation of his were unsettling. Enavir wondered what explanation of the Creators Cillian had given to them about his vallaslin or whether they had adopted them without knowing their meaning simply because they were mimicking his own.   Even the humans among the army seemed to regard him with reverential awe.   Enavir wondered how Cillian was finding his newly acquired status and broached the subject when the three of them were sharing a few quiet moments away from their followers around their campfire later that night.

       “So how does it feel to be a hero?”

       “Disturbing,” he replied with a troubled frown. “Don’t get me wrong, it feels good, too good.   I see now why you seem to panic every so often at the adulation.   It is a grave responsibility.”

       “I’m glad you think so,” said Fenris.   “I wasn’t lying when I told Enavir we were going to witness how the Evanuris became gods.   Even I wasn’t expecting such a display of superiority and battle prowess.   If I’d known how accomplished you were, I’d never have dared bait you so much.”   He said this with a wry smile that belied his statement.

       “There is a great similarity between some of your abilities,” reflected Enavir.   “That ability to briefly become ethereal, like you have temporarily entered the Fade or are occupying some space between it and here; Solas occasionally did the same and the anchor enabled me to do something similar.   It must have its origins back with the ancient elves.” He thought for a moment. “Fenris, you were given your markings by Denarius, correct?”

       “That is correct.”

       “Where did he get the knowledge from?   Have you any idea? They look elven.”

       “I wasn’t party to his studies, just suffered the result of them.”

       “I’m sorry, I know they pain you, as do the memories, but you don’t just come up with something like that by chance.   You were the only one he did it to, right?”

       “My memories of my time with him before he transformed me are rather vague.   For all I know there may have been others that were less successful before the experiment on me but from everything I have learned since, I am unique.   If there were others then they either died from the pain or the procedure itself killed them.”

       “Still if that were the case, then something convinced him to continue because he felt it should work eventually.   He knew he was trying something, possibly on a lesser scale, with what had been done before.   I have told Dorian of your markings. He was fascinated but was not familiar with the procedure.”

       “That is hardly surprising; I don’t think Denarius shared his secrets.   I would say that your Dorian probably loves learning for the sake of learning. Knowledge is its own reward.   Denarius on the other hand sought after knowledge to advance his prestige with his fellow mages and his status in the Magisterium.   For that reason he would have guarded his sources carefully.   I assume his research died with him, which would be no bad thing.”

       “The research specific to lacing your skin with lyrium but not the source of the idea to attempt it.   If we don’t find the answers we seek in Arlathan, I really must try the Tevinter archives.”

       “Well good luck with that,” said Fenris sarcastically.   “An elf and not even a mage.   You’d likely be arrested.”                               

       “I wasn’t necessarily going to ask permission.   Leliana managed to get her agents in undetected, in which case I should be able to do so too. Felassan told Briala that the Tevinter mages copied the runes they found in our ruins like children tracing letters.   They didn’t really understand what they were writing down but kept on trying to make sense of them. Eventually, by trial and error, they probably succeeded with some and spirits may have helped them decipher others, but I wouldn’t mind betting there are records that have still to be made sense of, just sitting there and gathering dust, or others that someone did make sense of but they died without passing the information on.”

       “Just remember how powerful the elven magic is in the wrong hands,” said Fenris.   “Some things may best be left forgotten.”

       Enavir allowed everyone time to recover from the sustained march before they set out once more for Qarinus.   This allowed his foot soldiers from Periventium to catch them up. Enansal had encouraged them to leave the wagons behind and jog in pursuit. This meant his total fighting force now amounted to around ten thousand. He had no idea how many additional people were in the following caravan but he guessed the numbers of his new clan probably exceeded the entire world population of the Dalish.   It was a chastening thought, that so many people should have placed their trust in him and his companions.   He was determined it wouldn’t be misplaced.  

       At night their campfires seemed almost as numerous as the stars in the sky.   He wondered if the qunari forces were aware of their approach and if they had realised they were no longer under control of the Qun.   He had his answer in one of his nightly conversations with Dorian.

       “The Qunari commanders are becoming bolder.   They claim there are reinforcements approaching from the south and urge us to surrender willingly before they are forced to make us.   They say throwing our lives away would be a waste.”

       “Well they do like to kid themselves that they prefer the gentle path.   You’re not giving in are you?”

       “Of course not but you can see it in people’s eyes, they think there is no hope for us. I fear the Soporati may weaken; they know they’ll be treated better than the mages.”

       “Tell them to put their trust in the Maker.”

       “That is most helpful,” Dorian replied with sarcasm.

       “Okay then try something elven instead.   Telanadas.”

       “Nothing is inevitable.   See, I remembered.”

       Enavir laughed.   “Take care of yourself, Ma sa’lath and don’t do anything foolish.”

       He would have liked to say more but they were so close to their goal now.   The element of surprise was essential to catch the Qunari off guard and besides he didn’t want Dorian to get complaisant.   Things could still go wrong.   As the neared the city they could hear the sound of canon fire, as the Qun pummelled the city defences.   Their scouts had informed them the opposing army was only five miles distant; it was the eve of battle.

       The following morning they set out in battle formation.   Enavir kept his cavalry to the rear of the main column as he didn’t want the Qunari to know about them in advance. As they crossed the final ridge before the city, they were able to spread out and look down on the forces ranged against them.   Their scouts had reported around twelve thousand horned warriors, plus some five thousand humans and elves, and this seemed near enough what they were faced with.   They were divided into three groups, each covering a different compass point on the city walls.   Far off in the bay, Enavir could see the line of dreadnoughts that formed the blockade to the city by sea.   It was possible that they would attempt to draw closer when the attack from the land side began but for the present they were obviously loath to risk the magical attacks that would be directed at them.  

       Siege equipment stood ready, while the cannons continued to fire, the majority directed at the city gates.   A huge battering ram was advancing in that direction.  

       A horn sounded from the group in front of the main city gate and Enavir responded in kind with a horn he had taken from the Kith and his army started steadily to advance.   The siege equipment moved forward and the battering ram took up position.   It started a rhythmic pounding and nothing the occupants did seemed to deflect it from its purpose.   In a matter of minutes the already weakened structure collapsed and the way to the city was open.   The Qun surged forward with a roar and Enavir’s army likewise picked up speed; as his forces closed on the enemy’s rear, his crystal started to vibrate.

       “Amatus, it is the beginning of the end.” Dorian sounded very emotional. “I love you; I always have. I don’t want to leave you but I won’t let them take me alive. I know what they do to us mages. I’m sorry.”

       “I’m sorry too, for holding out on you.   Have you got one of those spying glass things?”

       “Yes, why?”

       “Focus on the leader of the approaching army; riding the white horse. Does he look familiar?”   He jiggled the crystal to make it glint in the sun.

       “Maker’s breath, is that you?”   Relief and disbelief were equally evident in his voice.

       “The Maker works in mysterious ways, my love.”  

       With that he gave the order, firing a flaming arrow into the air.   The cavalry swept round from behind their infantry and sped across the field at right angles to the Qunari, firing repeatedly into their ranks.   Many of them were caught completely off guard and made no attempt to defend themselves, their attention having been wholly focussed on the city.   As they responded and turned in the direction of their assailants, the mages on the walls started to direct magic attacks into their ranks. The cavalry moved out again to either side, to guard their flanks, leaving the centre clear for the infantry to advance.    

       The Qunari started to charge to meet them, which was when Enavir brought his own mages into play, helping to break up the ranks and cause confusion.   Meanwhile, this allowed the Imperial guard to contain the tide of Qunari beyond the city gate, where it became a drawn out battle of attrition.   The cannons had now been directed over the walls, starting fires in the city beyond, and many of the siege towers had succeeded in reaching the walls.   Qunari forces started to engage the defenders on the battlements.

       “Enansal, try and take out those cannons and use fire arrows on the towers.”

       Enanasl nodded his understanding and complied with his section of the army.

       “Dorian, how is it going in there?”

       “We’re holding, barely, at the gate.   I think the defences have been breached on the eastern side.   I’ve seen Qunari this side of the wall and people are fleeing in panic.   It’s difficult to gauge the exact state of that part of the city because of the smoke.”

       “Okay, we’ll focus on breaking the line in the centre.”

       He surged forward with the bulk of his forces, concentrating on the Qunari at the gate. Caught between the guard and the liberati, the line finally broke, although many of them successfully retreated and reformed on the flanks.

       “Dorian, tell your mages on the walls to keep pounding them but if you’ve got any healers in there we could certainly do with them.”

       “I’ll see what I can do.”

       “And keep a watch on the harbour; they may have had some plan to attack when you were distracted by the gate.”

       “I’ll head that way too with my forces,” said Fenris.

       Enavir made a quick sweep of the battle field.   It looked as though the left flank was holding but there was strong pressure on the right, as the qunari seem to have brought up a reserve force that had been hidden in woodland, including a contingent of saarebas.   Arcs of lightening started to jump through their forces, slowing their progress even when it did not fell them altogether.     He signalled to his Dalish cavalry that they should focus on bring them down and urged his own horse in that direction.

       Cillian was already in the thick of it on foot, leading from the front, Evanura glinting in the sun and the glow of the spectral aura he had placed on it. He kept disappearing and reappearing like smoke and wherever he appeared their soldiers rallied.  

       The Qunari also noticed this and seemed to be concentrating their efforts on reaching him.   Enavir left his horse, as he was not yet proficient firing from its back with his new hand.   He started to pepper the warriors that were pressing in on Cillian, drawing attention to himself.

       A huge Qunari confronted Enavir; he had never seen one so large. He held a great broadsword and swung it with ease as though it was no more cumbersome than a stick.   Unlike the Kith, this warrior had great discipline and held his temper, making him all the more formidable.    

       He advanced on Enavir and arrows seemed to deter him no more than bothersome flies. As he closed, Enavir dropped his bow and swept out Glandivalis but it was soon apparent he was clearly overmatched.   It was all he could do to counter the broadsword without being able to return any blows of his own and it was evident he was beginning to tire, whilst the Qunari seemed to have unlimited stamina.  

       He had his belt and amulet but he wondered how effective they would be if the Qunari were to grab him by the throat. The warrior managed to evade his defences and the blow sent him reeling, even if it did no actual physical damage.   He fell to one knee, his vision blurring and he fought against passing out.   The Qunari closed in and seemed to have realised that something about his equipment was protecting him. In the brief moment that the Qunari paused and reached out to grab Enavir, he managed to get Glandivalis past his guard, stabbing him in the side.  

       It might have caused distress to a lesser man but this Qunari was inured to pain.   He appeared to shrug it off but then a strange thing happened.   The Qunari seemed to lose focus and his face briefly took on a blank look, before his attention clicked back in and transferred to his own men.   He fell on them with the same determination that he had attacked Enavir and they were forced to defend themselves from him as well as the other soldiers.

       Finally they brought him down but it broke their morale and their line. Shortly after, Cillian felled the last of the saarebas.   Some of the Qunari tried to retreat and regroup but this quickly turned to panic and became a rout; the day was won for the Enavir’s army and Tevinter.  

       Enavir recovered his bow, feeling somewhat chastened how far short his melee skills fell behind those he possessed as an archer. Cillian joined him soon after.

       “You must have a charmed life.” Cillian smiled at him.   “When that Quanri was closing in on you I thought we’d lost you.”

       “So did I.”

       “I tried to get to you but I wouldn’t have been in time. What happened?”

       “I don’t know.   That thrust with Glandivalis was neither overly deep nor vital, yet he turned on his own men as though he had gone crazy.”

       “If you were a mage and I didn’t know you better, I’d have thought it was blood magic mind control.”

       “May be it was one of our allies.”

       Enavir suddenly had a sick feeling in his stomach.   Had Dorian succumbed to temptation when he saw him in danger?   No sooner had he had the thought then they heard a huge explosion from the direction of the city.  

       “Dorian, what was that?”

       “A couple of dreadnoughts exploding in the harbour.   Good call that of yours.   Maevaris and I got here just in time to direct operations successfully.   How are things at your end?”

       “So you don’t know?”

       “Well I gather from the cheering and general euphoria that we must have won the day and you appear in good health, so I’m assuming all is well.”

       Enavir started to laugh with relief; whoever or whatever had been the cause of the sudden change in demeanour of the Qunari, it hadn’t been Dorian.

       “Yes, everything is wonderful.”

       Of course, it wasn’t perfect.   There had been casualties; some were permanently maimed and others would never see Arlathan.   Enavir was careful to discover their names and record them, so they would not be forgotten.   However, his fellow Dalish had survived and the majority of their slave recruits were in good shape and eager for more.   They burned their own dead with honour and the Dalish sang Suledin to encourage their spirits on the onward journey through the Fade.   The Qunari they also burned.  

       Some of the survivors had fled the field in the direction of Arlathan Forest and had been hunted down by their cavalry. Others had surrendered.   Enavir had to be quick to intervene to stop their massacre after they had thrown down their arms.   He was less clear about what they were going to do with them, so he put them under guard until a decision could be made. The majority were not qunari by race but human and elven. The dwarves from the city helpfully supplied manacles to keep them subdued.

       Enavir walked among his followers with Cillian and Fenris, personally thanking them for their part in the victory and checking their needs.   Fenris had returned from the city unscathed and having retreated with his soldiers while the inhabitants were still in a state of shock from the onslaught, he had taken the opportunity to liberate a large number of slaves by mingling them with his own forces, so was feeling highly pleased with himself.

       Once Enavir was satisfied that all had been attended to, he started in the direction of the city gate, where Dorian was awaiting him. The sun was setting over the battlefield as he drew near enough to see Dorian, flanked by Imperium soldiers.

       His companions held back when they saw Dorian and allowed Enavir to continue on alone.   So many months had been spent apart, there had been so much anxiety and dread with Enavir worrying about what might have befallen him, he wept with relief and ran into his arms.  

       For a while they just stood there, hugging each other close and Enavir could feel that Dorian was shaking with emotion too.   Then they kissed; a long drawn out kiss, full of passion and affection.   Some part of Enavir never wanted it to stop but Dorian drew back and whispered.

       “You do realise that everyone is watching us?”

       “Who cares?”

       “Well my reputation was shot to ribbons long before now but what about you?”

       “If they don’t like it, they are free to go but I’m not ashamed of my love for you.”

       “Will you come back with me to the city?”

       “I’d rather stay with my men.   Why don’t you come and share my tent with me?”

       Dorian laughed. “Just like the old days, eh?”

       “Exactly and you have to admit the climate is warmer here.”

       “Okay.”

       Dorian waved to the soldiers who had accompanied him to the gate and walked with his arm around Enavir’s shoulders as they made their way to the camp that had been established for him.  

       There were some curious looks as they passed, laced with a degree of suspicion, even hostility, but Enavir ignored them.   He’d meant what he said; if they weren’t happy with his lover then they could renounce their allegiance to him, but he felt sure they knew him well enough now that it would not be a source of contention.

       That was something, though, for another day.   Tonight being together with Dorian again was all that mattered; to feel him in his arms, to share their love together in its most intimate way, to forget their troubles and feel truly alive as he only did when he was with his soul mate.  


	15. Chapter 15

       The following day it was time to come down to earth and deal with practicalities, the first of which was Dorian himself and the subject of Enavir’s appearance on the scene, which Dorian brought up over breakfast in their tent.

       “I’m not saying it wasn’t timely or appreciated but I’m guessing that saving my hide wasn’t your prime motivation in gathering together nearly the entire slave workforce of the eastern Imperium and bringing them here.”

       “I’d got things rolling nicely in the south so it seemed expedient to start trying to work on stopping Solas.   It occurred to me that when your countrymen sunk Arlathan into the ground, it probably took most of its artefacts with it.   So the power he needs to go through with his plan might lie there.   I got to thinking how he had deliberately aimed the Qun back at Tevinter and that seemed to confirm that whatever he is looking for might lie here.”

       “Yes, but where does the slave army fit in?”

       “Well you had asked us to help the caravan.   That got us to thinking about the route we would take to Arlathan and whether we would split our forces.   Fenris pointed out, correctly as it turned out, that the Qunari might well infiltrate Arlathan Forest so they could move their forces overland without being noticed.   Then everyone agreed that if anyone was going to take over the Forest is should be us, not the Qun.   So one thing led to another and we decided to liberate the slaves to give us the forces to do this.   As we marched north we discovered we weren’t liberating them from Tevinter but other people who had already led them into rebellion.   Fenris may be a bit aggrieved but the fact is we haven’t harmed a single one of your countrymen, apart from the bandits who attacked the caravan.   That is the absolute truth; you have my oath on it.”

       “But that was more by coincidence than design, am I correct?”

       “I suppose.” Enavir shifted awkwardly and wouldn’t look Dorian in the eye.

       Dorian laughed.   “You look like a little child who got caught with his hand in the sweet jar.   Amatus I’m happy that if you had killed any of my countrymen, they probably deserved it, but you have to admit this places me in an awkward situation.”

       “Because I saved your arse and that of the rest of the ruling class of Qarinus?”

       “Don’t be obtuse.   What are you planning on doing with your slave army now?”

       “Head for Arlathan of course and liberate that from the Qunari too.”

       “And then?”

       “Hopefully find what I’m looking for.”

       “And then?”

       “You’re as relentless as a dog struggling over a bone aren’t you?   Settle Arlathan with free elves. There now, are you satisfied?”

       “And therein lies my problem.”

       “Is your problem with me annexing the forest or freeing the slaves on mass?”

       “Does it matter?”

       “Well, yes, actually.   I presume you are in favour of their freedom, provided they aren’t exploited or sink into inescapable poverty.   If we can’t hold Arlathan without bloodshed, then I’ll lead them back south down the eastern side of the mountains and we’ll take our chances there.   I’d prefer not having to do that but I’ll not abandon them.”

       “You’re not letting this go are you?”

       “What do you think?   Besides I currently have close on ten thousand reasons why I shouldn’t.   I don’t think I have any choice in the matter.”

       Dorian sighed heavily.   “Okay, I’ll give you that one.   I presume that’s why you kept quiet about the whole enterprise, so you wouldn’t upset me?”

       “Actually I didn’t want to place you in a compromising situation where you knew about something you rather wouldn’t.”

       “Fair enough.” He got up and kissed him on the cheek. “In that case, I’ll pretend I know nothing of your plans and let you convince my fellow Magisters in Qarinus.   Would you like me to arrange a meeting?”

       “Yes, thank you; that would be helpful.”                                                                                    

       “Always happy to oblige,” Dorian winked. “I’ll send you word when it’s set up.”

       As he departed, he was passed by Cillian; Enavir noticed him give a curious glance at the elf mage.   Cillian came straight to the point on entering the tent.

       “Some of the new recruits are concerned by the company you keep.”

       “Did you tell them there was no need?”

       “To be honest I’m all that’s keeping some of them sweet and Fenris convinced the rest.   They lost friends yesterday and they are struggling to see the point of it.   The rumour is you tricked them into saving your paramour.”

       “What?”

       “Actually some of them were less generous about it.   They think you’re one of his liberati, you earned your freedom in the bedroom and you’re still working for him.”

       “Damn it,” Enavir started to grow angry. “So what if I did save my lover? I have feelings like any other man.   Or would they rather have a leader from the Qun, who never even knew his own parents and gets his jollies in a state brothel?”

       “Calm down.   I think it just came as a bit of a shock to them when they saw the two of you together and if they were in any doubts about the nature of your relationship, well let’s just say last night you weren’t exactly quiet about it.”

       Enavir gave him a questioning look.   Cillian shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

       “Sound travels.”

       They stared at each other for a few seconds and then Enavir sighed in resignation.

       “I suppose I was a bit indiscrete.   So how do I remedy the situation?”

       “Talk to them.   Reassure them that you’re not dancing to his tune.”

       “I’ll do better than that.   I’m going to win their freedom for them, officially.   I don’t want slave hunters dogging their trail for the rest of their lives. I also intend to free the slaves from Qarinus too. Will you meet the Magisters with me?”

       “Just try and stop me.   You’ll include Fenris too?”

       “That might not be the best of ideas.   He hates Magisters.”

       “And all the lads know it.   He promised them he’d rip your heart out if you betrayed them. If you want them to trust you, let him attend the talks; then they’ll know they’re safe.”

       Enavir still smarted at the idea that the Tevinter elves didn’t trust him but if he was honest he couldn’t blame them.   He also had no doubts that Fenris had meant it.”

       “Okay, let Fenris know, we’re waiting on Dorian to arrange something.

       It took the best part of the day for Dorian to set up the meeting but mid-afternoon they received his message inviting them to an emergency sitting of the city council.     Enavir responded that they did not intend setting foot inside the city but the council were promised safe passage if they would come to his camp.   There was a further delay before a messenger informed them that the representatives would comply with their request and would arrange for a neutral tent to be erected within range of the city gates.   Fenris grinned wickedly.

       “Round one to us I think.   We refuse to dance to their tune and they’ve shown themselves nervous enough not to stray too far into our camp.”

       “It also shows they do not trust our word, though,” commented Cillian with a frown. “We offered them safe passage.”

       “Well let’s face it, I made it clear I didn’t trust them, which I don’t,” said Enavir. “I’m okay with this compromise.   Our people will see them come out to us, which may reassure them about my loyalties.   Let’s get ready to receive them.   We need to look suitably impressive to persuade them of our confidence and determination to negotiate on our terms.   We are not some glorified mercenary band but leaders of our people.”

       “That comment by Ambassador Cyril still rankles doesn’t it?” said Cillian.

       “You bet it does. Dorian told me that Tevinter really wanted the Inquistion shut down too. Now they will realise they should not have made me a free agent once more.”

       The meeting tent was erected in short order by slaves from the city under supervision of the city guard.   It was in the green of Tevinter covered with the dragon heraldry of the Imperium.

       “Hardly neutral ground,” Cillian raised his eyebrows.

       “Then we shall counter it with our own banners.”

       Enavir pulled his standard from the ground and gestured towards the painted shields that had been arrayed around his tent, with the symbols of Shartan, Ameridan and Garahel upon them.

       “These go with us.”

       Resplendent in their battle armour, the three war chiefs strode forward, with attendant soldiers bearing their insignia.   These were displayed prominently alongside of the meeting tent, so that both their army and the inhabitants of the city could see them.   Then they waited with them until a horn indicated the city council were approaching.  

       The council were clothed in the vestments of authority appropriate to Tevinter, predominantly black and silver with liberal decoration in gold.   Beneath their robes was light armour that Dorian had once told him was not simply decorative.   Distrust of the other party was common place in Tevinter and back stabbing could be literal as well as metaphorical in meetings between rival Magisters.   In some ways, Enavir felt their attire was an unintended compliment to the threat provided by himself and his companions.

       Both parties entered the tent. Within was a long table and suitable seating.   The council seated themselves with dignity at one end, Enavir and his companions at the other.   Dorian then took it upon himself to make the introductions.

       Beside Dorian, the only Magisters among the group were Maevaris Tilani, Tiberius Alrida and Marcus Aurillian, as the majority of the local aristocracy were still in Minrathous and contact between the two cities had still to be restored.   Dorian had informed him that the usual means of contact, a sending stone, had been smashed in the aborted uprising.   The Magisters used a full range of flamboyant titles as though to emphasise their superiority to the others present, even on their own side.

       Tiberius Alrida was a grey haired, softly spoken mage, with a calm demeanour, while Marcus Aurillian was young, red haired and fidgety, constantly shifting in his seat and tapping a rhythm on the table with his fingers. In temperament, Maevaris fell somewhere between the other two, while her dress had more real quality and style than the other women present.   She gave a knowing smile at Enavir as she waited for Dorian to introduce him and he guessed she already knew his real identity and his former title of Inquisitor.   

       There were also the three representatives of lesser Laetan families, which had seats in the lower house of the Senate and were representing the interests of the Laetan class in the city as a whole.   Their chief spokesperson was Alia Sulanus, a rather flamboyantly dressed female with an ostentatious display of jewellery about her person.  

       Tiberius appeared to be chairing the meeting as he sat at the head of the table.   He was flanked by his fellow Magisters, with the Laetans just below them.   This left the three elves at the far end of the table in the positions of lowest importance but Enavir ignored the slight and sat himself with dignity at the opposite end to Tiberius with Cillian on his right and Fenris on his left.   Dorian introduced them to council with Enavir using simply his own name, without the accompanying titles as he did not want to upstage his companions and wished to utilise them when they would have the greatest impact; then Tiberius began.

       “You have requested a meeting with this council?”

       “That is correct,” affirmed Enavir.

       “I would point out at once how extremely irregular this is,” said Alia.   “These elves are not even citizens of the Imperium.   Who are they to demand an audience?”

       “With due respect, Madam Sulanus,” said Dorian. “You would not be sitting here in comfort were it not for these elves.”

       “I am Comte Enavir Istimaethoriel Lavellan of Clan Revassan, lately of Starkhaven although my seat is in Kirkwall, and formerly Lord Inquisitor of southern Thedas with diplomatic ties throughout the free world.   You may have heard of me.”

       Alia’s mouth dropped open at this declaration and Marcus sat up squarely and stopped tapping his fingers.   Maevaris merely smiled.

       “You are welcome, Comte Lavellan,” said Tiberius. “You will excuse us but our foreign neighbours usually take little interest in our affairs unless it is to embark on an Exalted March against us.   They also signed a peace treaty with the Qun against our objections.   Thus we are somewhat surprised at your support in this matter.”

       “Relations have cooled with the Qun of late, what with the attempted takeover of Kirkwall that my companion here helped avert some ten years ago and a more recent aborted coup against the southern states that my organisation prevented, before I disbanded it to concentrate on matters further afield.   It is regrettable that our actions seemed to encourage their resumption of hostilities in the north but not wholly unexpected.   Hence my timely arrival that saved your city.”

       “Saved _us_ or were we just a fortunate by-product?” Alia glanced meaningfully at Dorian.

       “Oh I assure you, I have no desire to see Tevinter fall to the Qun.   As an acquaintance of mine once said, at least in Tevinter a slave can dream of freedom; in the Qun you are not even permitted to dream.   I regret we did not arrive in Marothius in time to save your fellow mages from a terrible fate.”

       “They were forcibly fed qamek,” said Fenris.   “They are being brought north as we speak and one of our people is doing what she can for them but I have little hope of their recovery.   If it is any consolation we killed those responsible.”

       Enavir reflected how ironic it was that Fenris should actually be expressing sympathy for mages, and doing so to Magisters, but he knew his words were genuine.

       There was a brief silence and it was clear on the face of every mage how affected they were by the news. No matter what their differences might be and the rivalries that existed between them, none of them wished for such a fate.

       “I thank you for your assistance,” said Tiberius with dignity.   “So what is it you ask of us in return?”

       “I believe that Arlathan Forest falls under your jurisdiction.   Is that so?”

       “That is correct.”

       “It is my belief that it is currently occupied by hostile force, namely the Qun.   I intend to drive them out. To assist in this endeavour I request additional forces from you.”

       “That may not be possible. As you will have seen, Qunari dreadnoughts line our bay.   We abandoned the countryside and withdrew our forces within the city as the most effective means of defending against them.   You may have been victorious in one battle but the threat still remains.”

       “Indeed and that is why we need to secure the forest.   Am I not right it assuming that the landward army came from that direction?”   Dorian had already confirmed this to him but he wanted the others to admit it.

       “That is true but we would still be left dangerously exposed with the ships off shore and not knowing the situation in our other cities.”

       “I think the true reason is that you fear the slaves within your walls if you do not have the soldiers here to keep them in order.”

       “That is preposterous.” Alia interjected with an affected laugh.   “Why should we fear slaves?”

       “Because they’ve already brought your city near to ruin and only my warning to Magister Pavus prevented it.”

       “Your warning?” Tiberius glared at Dorian. “You said it came from your liberati.”

       “Comte Lavellan had warned me before I left the south that I might have cause to regret if I delayed in freeing my slaves as he had advised me I should do,” Dorian responded smoothly, without even a flicker of concern to suggest that Enavir had revealed more than he should about contact between them.   “When we were reunited, I thanked him for his timely advice and explained why.”

       “Pillow talk will be the death of you Pavus,” Marcus Aurillius hissed angrily.

       “It was hardly a state secret,” Dorian said dismissively. “The army before our gates comprises slaves that Comte Lavellan has kept out of the clutches of the Qun.   I did my best to warn you all about Qunari agents but you chose to ignore me until it was nearly too late to do anything about it.   Anyone with a modicum of intelligence would guess that they were likely as active here as they were further south.”

       “And we dealt with them.   Problem solved.”

       “Not so, I think,” said Enavir.   “As you have pointed out, the enemy is still at your door and you are watching your slaves’ every step.   There was an armed guard over the slaves erecting this tent.”

       “To stop an action on your part to free them,” insisted Alia.

       “If I’d wanted to free them then, do you suppose your guards could have stopped me?”

       There was a brief silence as the council considered his statement.   They had to know Fenris had already liberated many of their slaves. Then Tiberius recovered his composure.

       “I take it you have a proposal?” 

       “Correct.   You cannot trust your slaves and I need additional forces. So release them to me and everyone is satisfied.”

       “Release the slaves?” Tiberius sounded doubtful.   “You mean free them?”

       “Well obviously it would create more good will if you officially did so but if you prefer just making them a donation to our army then I’ll settle for that.”

       “But we don’t get them back.”

       “Put it this way, no one is going to be forced to return to you.   However, if they wish to return of their own free will as liberati in your service, I would not stop them either.   I suppose it all depends on how well you have treated them in the past.   According to Magister Pavus, I understand there are worse things than serving a Magister.   After all, most of his slaves wanted to stay in his household after he freed them.”

       “That’s all very well but how do we know you won’t use them against us?”

       “I haven’t done so up to now.   This arrangement would be in both of our interests.   I repeat what I said before; we have no desire to see the Qun get a foothold back on the mainland.   I despise their philosophy and their politics.   You may like to kid yourselves that you don’t need allies, but from where I’m sitting that would seem a very short sighted thing to do.   This isn’t some minor skirmish; it is all out war.   We cannot afford to be at odds with anyone who resists the Qun. The southern states may sit on the side lines, congratulating themselves that they have avoided conflict and rejoicing in every setback to Tevinter, but I am wiser than that.   I was hoping you would be too.”

       “Okay, assuming we agree to this proposal and you drive the Qun from Arlathan Forest, what then?”

       “Once done I wish it to be placed under our governorship.   We will run it as a province of Tevinter, pay taxes as appropriate but govern it according to our laws.   Anyone who already lives there and has survived the Qun, is welcome to stay and will be treated fairly.”

       “You want us to give Arlathan to the elves?”

       “Actually I want you to return it to us.   We were there originally you will recall.   However, there was an unnecessary degree of hostility between our two races at the time, which I will admit may not have been entirely the fault of Tevinter.   My clan now accepts the fact that we are all stronger when we work together against our common foes.   I presume you will agree that the Qun are going to be an ongoing threat to us all.”

       “That is so,” said Tiberius cautiously.

       “Then you must agree that it is only beneficial to the state of Qarinus to grant this request.   Then you will have a strong ally to the east who will protect your flank against the Qun. It is very costly maintaining a standing army in the location but so long as the Qun remain a threat, Arlathan Forest will always be a weak point in your defences.”

       The Magisters glanced from one to another and then to the Laetans with puzzled looks on their faces. They were clearly caught off balance by the reasonableness and common sense of his approach.   Maevaris gave a penetrating glance in Dorian’s direction and then seemed to comprehend his strategy.

       “Wait a minute, what’s the catch?”                                                                                     

       “Does there have to be one?”

       “Naturally there is and it pays to read the fine print. You want to run the province according to your laws. What exactly might they be?”

       “Broadly based on Andrastrian principles.   You are Andrastrians are you not?”

       “Followers of the Imperial Chantry of the True Divine,” declared Marcus.

       “Absolutely,” grinned Enavir.   “My friends here will attest to the fact that I really can’t stand the southern Chantry. It is an old prejudice; something to do with the Dales and the fact that I despise the Orlesians, plus they have some very odd notions about mages.”

       Enavir hoped that Fenris wouldn’t contradict him at this point but thankfully he kept his council and remained silent.

       “No, what I’m talking about are the moral imperatives of the Chant.   The Maker is the only god, the strong not abusing the weak, using his gifts to the benefit of all, that sort of thing.”

       “Anything else?” enquired Maevaris.

       “Oh yes, one more.   Everyone is a free citizen of the state.”

       That provoked a reaction.   Voices were raised in objection, some directed at him, others at their Chairman.   Alia pretended to feel faint at the notion, although Enavir conceded that possibly the emotion was real; no doubt the vain woman had dozens of slaves answering her beck and call. Only Dorian sat with a smirk on his face, clearly enjoying the spectacle. Eventually the mages calmed themselves once more and Tiberius spoke.

       “You cannot seriously be suggesting this?”

       “It is but a small price to pay.”

       “The Magisterium would never agree to it.”

       “I’m not asking you to change the laws of the entire Imperium, although that wouldn’t be a bad idea, simply suggesting an autonomous state within it where this is the norm. Call it a social experiment if you will.”

       “It would undermine the rest of the Imperium if it were known there was an exception allowed in Arlathan. It would provoke unrest.”

       “With all due respect, there already _is_ unrest.   From what we have witnessed it has occurred across the Imperium. The slave class, and no doubt the liberati as well, have been infiltrated by enemy agents.   It is impossible to know who they are until they strike and they have the potential to influence a huge number of people to turn against you.   If you punish people in order to try and weed them out, you’ll only make the situation worse.   The only course of action is to encourage them to want to maintain their loyalty to you, instead of giving it to an enemy beguiler.   Believe me, the Qun are not your only problem.   You will never sleep easy in your beds at night so long as you deny people their dignity.   Either abolish slavery or extend citizenship to everyone in the Empire, including slaves.   The important thing is that laws designed to protect citizens should apply equally to all, whether Altus, Laetans, Soporati, Liberati or slave.   If you murder a slave you should be called to account for it, not simply be able to shrug your shoulders and go out and buy a new one.   You ignore the potential that exists for greatness because they were born to the wrong family or race. Allow them to use their talents as free citizens and Tevinter will be the beneficiary.   Give people hope and a reason for wanting Tevinter to survive and they will give their loyalty to you willingly; they will fight to their last breath to defend it.   Continue to deny them their liberty and they will destroy you.”

       “And what of you Comte Lavellan? What will you do if we refuse.”

       “I will take my forces and leave. I will drive the Qun from Arlathan and then we will await developments.   I have no wish to expend the lives of my people over a patch of ground if there is no future in it for us.   I was a Dalish first; I know how to survive on the move with no land to call my own. Nevertheless I doubt you will be in a position to take it from us.”

       “You will take _your_ people and leave.   Who might they be?”

       “They stand before your gates.”

       “They are Servus Publicus, the property of the state.”

       “No they are not.   They are free people.   Most are elves, the rest are human. All are now members of Clan Revassan and we stand or fall together.   My offer is made in good faith, even knowing how little honour the rulers of this world have had in the past. I would consider carefully before you refuse.”

       “We could put _you_ in chains.”

       “You could try but Maker help you if you do.”

       “Is that a threat, Comte Lavellan?”

       “No, it is a promise, Magister Alrida. The Empress Celene double crossed a friend and placed them in chains while she murdered elven children, instead of giving them the justice they cried out for. Ask Magister Pavus what became of her.   Where is Corypheus?   Where are the Venatori that your Archon feared but could not contain?   Where are the Jaws of Hakkon and their false god?   Where are the Qunari who thought they would conquer the south with no one to raise objection?   They are dust and ashes. They made an enemy of me.   Do not make the same mistake.”

       He stood up and his companions rose with him.

       “We will leave you to your deliberations.   Do not keep us waiting too long for an answer.”

       With that he turned on his heel and stalked from the tent with Fenris and Cillian in close attendance.   He kept his hand ready on the hilt of his sword in case there was a call to arms and he could see his companions were likewise prepared but no such alarm was raised.   He noticed the faint glow of a magical barrier that Cillian had raised around them all in case a signal was passed to archers on the walls. When they were out of bow shot and reached the safety of their camp he relaxed and allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.   The hard part was over; now they simply had to wait and see if it had brought results.

       A short time later Dorian came to his tent and did not look happy.

       “Festis bei um canavanum.”

       “What have I done?” Enavir said innocently.

       “Vishante kaffas, you know very well.   Have you any idea how you’ve compromised me with the other nobles?”

       “I thought you liked being a pariah?”

       “Fastu vass, there are limits.   In case you hadn’t noticed, I have been trying to improve the situation Tevinter.   You don’t bring about reform by shitting all over people.   This is precisely why I didn’t want you around, taking a sledgehammer to the Magisterium.”

       “No, you just want to tweak things a little to make it more palatable to you.   Heaven forbid you might actually make real changes.”

       “I do, but that takes time.”

       “Your way it does but we don’t have the luxury of time.   The Qunari are at your door and the Dread Wolf is out there watching.   You need to decide exactly what it is you are trying to save Dorian.”

       “What in the hell does that mean?”

       “You said once that you would do anything to save your country.   Well, what exactly is it about it you think is worth saving?   What _do_ you care about?   Preserving your ancient culture?   If you recall it was never _your_ culture to begin with. Everything was an imitation of what went on before, a culture of slavery, decadence and corruption, where the strong oppressed the weak and abused their power.   My people thought they wanted that back.   Some of them still do but I don’t.   I care about people.” He pointed out in the direction of the camp, “Those people.”

       “I care about people too.”

       “Do you really, Dorian?   You justify slavery and maintaining your corrupt system of governance.   Go out there and talk to those people.   Hear what they have suffered and then try telling me that slavery can _ever_ be justified.”

       “Is the south any better?”

       “No, it isn’t.   They try to maintain a moral high ground because they don’t have slavery officially but they still feed your markets either directly or covertly.   Their Game is no different to the machinations of the Magisterium; they just use bards and poison instead of blood magic.   I tried playing by their rules but it didn’t work.   So now I’m making my own rules and they are going to have to live with it.   The slaves _will_ be free.”

       “You sound like Andraste.”

       “What’s so bad about that?”

       “That makes me Maferath.”

       “So you’re going to sell me out to my enemies?”

       “Has it ever occurred to you that Maferath might have made the right call?   The rebellion might have been utterly defeated if they had continued into the heart of the Imperium.   Thousands of lives would have been lost either way.   Lives of ordinary people that you claim are the important ones.   As it was, there was bloodshed when Hessarian converted but those who died were _my_ people, the Altus, the nobles that you seem to despise so much.   Maferath achieved their aim by diplomacy.   It just took that bit longer.”

       “You’re wrong, he didn’t achieve their aim.”

       “The Imperium converted to the Maker.   How was that not achieving their aim?”

       Enavir shook his head sadly.   “You just don’t understand do you?   May be you have never really read the Chant or perhaps you have a different version up here.   It was never about getting people to sing the praises of the Maker.   You said it yourself, he wasn’t happy when that’s all his first children did.   He didn’t just want empty words, he wanted action.” He voice became more animated. “Over and over again the stories refer to the abuse of power, vain ambition and corruption.   In the Canticle of Shartan, though, the heritage of _my_ People, it wasn’t the belief in the Maker that united Andraste and Shartan, it was a desire that their people should be free.   When Andraste gave Shartan her sword,” he touched Glandivalis in its sheath, “this sword, she didn’t charge him with spreading the word of the Maker, but ensuring the freedom of their people.   When Maferath betrayed her to the Imperium and his soldiers stood by and let her be taken, Shartan and his elves did not.   He already had the promise of a homeland for his people.   Maferath was clearly so in awe of that promise that he kept it. Shartan could have done the politically expedient thing and just followed Maferath’s lead but he didn’t.   He and his elite followers tried to free her from the bonfire.   When her human allies failed her, it was the elves that stood by her and died alongside, cut down by the arrows of the Imperium.   Shartan should have been remembered as her most faithful disciple but did the southern Chantry, did yours?”

       “No.” Dorian admitted in subdued fashion.

       “Shartan’s actions were witnessed though.   Every slave who stood around the bonfire would have seen his bravery and that of the other elves, former slaves willing to die for what they believed in, putting loyalty and honour above their own survival.   It wasn’t just the sight of Andraste’s quiet dignity that moved the crowd; it was seeing Shartan and his elves defy the might of the Imperium.   _That_ is why people came to Halamshiral speaking of Shartan having led revolts across the Imperium; _that_ is why Hessarian had no choice but to convert to the Maker and give the elves their freedom.   It wasn’t the voice of the Maker, only heeded ten years after the event; it was legacy of Shartan.   The Qun are using the same tactics now but those heeding their call will not find the freedom they think they are promised.   I can give them that freedom.   I _will_ give them that freedom.”

       “Even if that means losing me?” Dorian asked quietly, his eyes earnest.

       “Is that an ultimatum?” Enavir held his gaze, feeling sick to the core.

       Dorian shook his head. “I would never ask that of you.   You need to understand, though, that I am committed to trying to save my country and that may place us at odds with one another.   I think in my heart I always knew it would.”

       “It doesn’t have to.” He looked appealing at Dorian, his voice subdued.

       Dorian sighed. “What you are proposing shakes the very foundations on which we are built.   There has never been a time when we did not have slaves. Hessarian may have freed countless elves from our control but he didn’t abolish slavery altogether.   The empire is built on slaves.   How can that not place us in opposition?”

       “Not if you don’t let it.   I think change is coming whether you Magisters want it or not.   The sooner they recognise that fact, the better your chances of survival.   Embrace my ideas Dorian and you may still save the situation.”

       “And you will not compromise?”

       “I can’t.   I’ve already nearly lost the loyalty of the liberati over our relationship.   I suppose they are so unfamiliar with the idea of a free elf having power in their own right that they are convinced I was previously your slave and won my freedom through the bedroom; that everything I’ve done has been on behalf of you.”

       “I suppose I should be flattered, if only that were true.”

       “It wasn’t entirely false.   If I have made things difficult for you, I’m sorry.   I long for the old days, when we were united in what we were fighting for.   The whole journey here I was out of my mind with worry that we would be too late.   I hate it when we’re apart.   I’ve tried to put a brave face on it but I’ve missed you so much it hurts.”

       “You’ve never thought of ending it, of finding someone else?”

       Enavir was shocked at the question. “Have you?”

       “No!   It’s just seeing these other men around, elves not human, I thought that may be you might be happier with one of them and I’d understand, Amatus, really I would.”

       Enavir looked at him in bafflement, appalled at the idea.

       “You’re my soul mate Dorian.   I’m bonded with _you_.   Do you really have no idea what that means to me?   When you’re not with me, it’s like a part of me is missing, like when I lost my arm.”

       “You got a replacement arm.”

       “Well I can’t get a replacement for you.”

       He grabbed Dorian and kissed him fiercely.

       “Now come to bed.   It seems like I need to remind you just how much you mean to me.”

       The tension between them caused an erotic charge to their love making initially that made it even more intense than the night before.   Later though, they awoke and it became more tender, before relaxing in each other’s arms, alternating between peaceful sleep and lying awake, simply savouring their time together.   As the light of a new day started to penetrate the interior, Enavir rolled over on his side to stare lovingly at Dorian.

       “You know, there are times when I’m tempted to say, screw them all, let’s run away together somewhere exotic where no one knows us, Rivain perhaps, and live out our time left together.”

       “And end up hating each other.”

       “You really think so?”

       “I know so.   It’s why I love you so much, because you care, really care about what happens to the world and the people in it, not for what you can get out of it.   I adore your passion, even when it’s directed against me. You do what is right for the sake of it, because your conscience tells you to, regardless of what may benefit you or the thanks you get.”

       “Well there’s always been precious little of that at the end of the day.”

       “I’m grateful. Isn’t that enough?”

       “Always.” He kissed him; then gave him a questioning look. “So do you still think I should back off with my demands?”

       “Absolutely not,” Dorian grinned.   “Your instincts have been good up to now.   If you had gone for the easy route, the safe route, we wouldn’t be together now.   If I hadn’t gone ahead and freed all my slaves as you encouraged me to, the rebellion in Qarinus might have succeeded.   Despite my objections, I can see that there has been a fundamental shift in the balance of power and we should embrace change rather than fear it.   Unfortunately my fellow Magisters and the nobility are inclined to view my actions and yours in the worst light and think it is all part of some dastardly plot against them by me.”

       “It’s a fine state of affairs.   The elves don’t trust me because of you and the Magisters don’t trust you because of me.”

       “The elves don’t trust you, really?”

       “Not entirely true.   My real clan members trust me.   It’s more the ex-slaves but they do rather outnumber the rest.   I’m pretty sure Fenris would gladly see Tevinter swept into the sea and does not entirely approve of you, even if he has been helpful.   That’s more because he was happy to see those Magisters on his list dead rather than a desire to aid your survival.   As for Cillian, I’m not sure.   He’s been very supportive of me up to now and a big help in keeping the liberati mollified over our intimacy.   I certainly wouldn’t want to make an enemy of him, that’s for sure.   He has incredible power in his own right and quite a hold over the Tevinter elves.     To be honest, he’s the one the Magisters should really fear.   He took on a Qunari general in single combat and barely broke sweat.   He could challenge the most powerful of human mages and win, without resorting to blood magic.”

       “You think he could take on the Archon or the Black Divine?”

       “Who knows; let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.   He will fight if he has to though, no matter the danger to himself, if it helps those he has pledged himself to support. That is why I still have confidence in him, because he isn’t ambitious for himself, but if that should ever change, if he should succumb to temptation, you will see what a true elf lord looks like.   He has admitted to me the influence he has over the Tevinter elves.   They revere him already and paint their faces to look like him.   When they expressed doubt about my loyalties, it was he who persuaded them to continue to place their trust in me.   He is as much their leader as me.”

       “So when Tiberius asked what you would do if we refused your offer, why didn’t you ask Cillian?”

       “Would you show weakness by consulting with your comrades in front of a hostile audience?   Cillian heard my answer; if he really objected he could have said as much but I think for the present he broadly shares my sentiments.”

       “Meaning what exactly?”

       “I am the only one who is really committed to finding a peaceful, political solution.   When I spoke I told the truth; after searching the ruins of Arlathan I would rather lead my people out again, than submit them to years of conflict to retain it under our control.   Cillian and Fenris were there to make a show of support and as observers to reassure the elves out here, who feared I was going to sell them out.   That is the reality of it.   If your colleagues reject my offer, I may call it quits but I can’t guarantee the others will do the same.   I told you before; my hands are tied in this.   You didn’t see what was done in Perivantium.   The slaves there even killed the Qun agents when they thought them too soft on their former masters.   Then there is Solas out there somewhere with his promise of elven glory; I need something tangible to counter that with; giving us Arlathan could be it.”

       “And you’re sure Cillian doesn’t serve the Dread Wolf?”

       “As sure as I can be about anything; I’ve heard him when he speaks his name; he is sincere in his opposition.”

       Dorian lay back and closed his eyes while continuing, absent minded, to stroke Enavir’s stump.   The latter waited quietly, watching the rise and fall of his chest and enjoying simply studying the lines of his face, while Dorian meditated.   At last he reopened his eyes and smiled.

       “I think I may have a solution, a way to save face for the nobility and yet at least partially satisfy that mob at our gates.”

       Dorian got up and started to dress.

       “What?”

       “I’d rather not say until I’ve sounded them out on the issue.” He stooped and kissed Enavir on the nose. “Call it pay back for you keeping me in the dark for so long.”

       He departed cheerily, leaving Enavir bursting with curiosity about the proposed compromise solution.  


	16. Chapter 16

       With nothing to do but wait, it seemed best to give thought to other matters, such as the caravan approaching from the south.   He realised they must still be some days away and he could save them some miles if he redirected them to the east of Qarinus. However, the mentally maimed mages needed to be brought to the city.   He sent two of his best riders to split the convoy.  

       Scouts were despatched to the east to check for signs of the Qun but everything was quiet for the present.   The remaining dreadnoughts were still anchored just outside the bay, so the city continued to be on full alert.  

       He called together Cillian and Fenris to discuss what their next move should be.   It was agreed they would give the city council one more day to respond and if nothing came of it, they would depart on the morrow.   This seemed an expedient move as he noticed there was still an air of tension around the camp and the Tevinter elves seemed unsettled by inactivity.   He realised that as slaves they had never been permitted much time for idle leisure and so were uncomfortable with the notion, not knowing how to amuse themselves. The majority of them had not been pampered house slaves but labourers in the many quarries and mines that fringed the mountains.   Small wonder then, that they had no love for their masters and no wish to remain, even as paid servants.  

       However, he was reassured that he hadn’t lost their loyalty both by the way they acknowledged him as he walked through camp and by Cillian.

       “You may not have been aware of it but the moment Dorian arrived at your tent last night, you could have heard a pin drop in the camp around it.”

       “They were eavesdropping?”

       “We could hardly miss the first part, particularly the profusion of swear words in Tevene.   The Tevinter elves helpfully translated them for me.” He grinned. “He has quite a colourful vocabulary when all is said and done.”

       “So how much did you hear?”

       “Most of the arguments, until you started to lower your voice near the end.   Honestly, it impressed them no end how you stood up for them.   Then when he stayed the night, that’s when they realised that may be they had got it round the wrong way and you might be the one controlling him.”

       “That’s not true.”

       “If you say so,” Cillian smirked. “It does no harm to let them believe it.”

       Just after noon, Chroix came to see him.   He shuffled his feet a little and seemed unsure how to begin the conversation.

       “Is something wrong?” asked Enavir.

       “Fenris said I should speak to you.   It’s about the prisoners.”

       “The one’s we captured after the battle?”

       “That’s right.   I’ve been talking with them.   Some of them are from Seheron.   They are not Qunari.”

       “They were fighting with them.”

       “So were we, initially, the same as those other ones from Marothius. You freed all of us, so I thought you could free them too.”

       “The way I’ve heard it in the past, many of the people from Seheron willingly joined the Qun.   The elves have risen to positions of authority within their army.   I’m not freeing foreign generals to influence my soldiers against me.”

       “The majority of them are humans but you said you weren’t just for the elves. Most of their generals are dead.   True Qunari don’t surrender.   These men are mostly natives or escaped slaves who were conscripted or joined up simply because they would be fighting Tevinter.   They thought if they aided the Qunari they would finally be free of them. I can understand that can’t you?”

       “Possibly, but you must appreciate they have actually fought against us and if they hate Tevinter, they can’t be pleased that we fought on their side.”

       “Fenris said that was only out of expediency.   Cillian said so too.   I heard what you said to your lover.   You don’t support Tevinter, you just don’t like the Qun, and you want us to be free.   These men want to be free too.   Many of them have got families back home that they are worried about.   Fenris told us that the Qunari don’t have families.   Doesn’t that prove they aren’t really part of them?”

       “How many are we talking about?”

       “About five hundred human prisoners and three hundred elves.”

       “That many?” he frowned. “I don’t know; that’s a big risk.”

       “If you hand them over to Tevinter, they won’t sell them as slaves, they’ll make an example of them.   In their eyes they are rebels against their authority.   You think what we did was bad?   You should see what the Magisters do to rebels.”

       “Okay, Chroix, I hear what you are saying.   I’ll think about it.”

       Enavir was troubled as to what to do.   He was touched that Chroix should feel such empathy for the prisoners that he was pleading their case for them but it was a big risk to free them.   He went to find Fenris and Cillian; then passed on what Chroix had said.

       “He’s not wrong about how the Tevinter will view them,” said Fenris.   “If they don’t outright kill them in some horrific way, they’ll likely hand them over to the Circles for experimentation, the elves anyway.”

       “They are our prisoners and our responsibility,” said Cillian.   “If we don’t intend showing them mercy, then we should execute them humanely.”

       Enavir sighed. “Should we punish people just because they chose the wrong side?”

       “Particularly when they simply wanted to be free of Tevinter,” said Fenris. Mind you, they are not true rebels. Those natives, particularly the Fog Warriors, are more like the Dalish in their attitude and would never serve either side.”

       “Still, if they abandon their allies so easily, how can I be sure they won’t turn on us? How can I be sure there aren’t still Ben’Hassrath agents among them, biding their time?”

       “That could be true of any of our troops,” argued Fenris.   “You gave the rest a second chance, why not these people?”

       “Perhaps you shouldn’t be the one making the decision,” suggested Cillian. “Why not ask the other soldiers?   After all, they’ll be the ones bearing the brunt of it if they turn on us in the future.”

       “Won’t that appear like I’m simply trying to avoid responsibility for making a decision that I find difficult?”

       “I’ll ask them for you,” said Fenris.   “It will just be canvasing opinion and you won’t have to feel bound by it”

       “It will help build confidence in you as well,” said Cillian.   “Giving your followers a voice will show you respect them.”

       The other two spent much of the afternoon circulating among the troops, hearing their views on the matter of the prisoners.   The sun was beginning to set and they had still not returned to inform Enavir of the results when a messenger came, inviting them to another meeting of the council.  

       Cillian and Fenris returned just as a horn announced the council members were approaching from the city.   Orders were left with the liberati leaders, if anything should happen to them, the army was to depart for the east but Enavir had the feeling that if they didn’t return, Qarinus would burn.  

       The Council comprised the same members as the previous day but Alia looked even more disgruntled than she had then.   She all but ignored Enavir and glared at Cillian.   Dorian was looking somewhat smug and winked at Envair when he thought the others weren’t watching him.

       “You will realise that this undue pressure to reach a conclusion is very unseemly and highly irregular,” began Tiberius.   “Thankfully, after you broke the siege, our dwarven allies were able to access the materials they needed to repair our means of communication with Minrathous.   The Archon has assured us that we are still in control of the Imperium, although there have been some disturbing reports from the southern cities.”

       Enavir kept his face impassive but the fact they had made contact with the Archon was significant.   Whatever they were going to propose presumably had his approval if not that of the full Magisterium.   If they were prepared to admit to the disturbing reports then things must have been really bad. No doubt they realised they could not deny this.

       “The Archon has insisted that we cannot accede to your demands concerning universal citizenship, even within a province such as you suggest for Arlathan Forest.   It would set a dangerous precedent.”

       Enavir struggled to keep the disappointment from his face but Dorian had warned him of such an outcome.   He wondered how his companions had taken the news but dared not glance at them and display concern in front of the Council.   He detected a barely perceptible ‘Vashedan’ from Fenris and prayed that he wasn’t starting to glow.

       “However, the Archon has approved an alternative that we hope you will find acceptable.     Tell me, your general there, Cillian was the name we were given yesterday was it not?”

       Enavir glanced at Cillian and they both nodded. Tiberius beckoned him forward.

       “Come, stand where we can all see you clearly.”

       Cillian complied, standing clear of the table, giving Enavir a curious look as he did so.   He stood before them, proudly erect, his ancient elven armour gleaming and his staff giving off a faint silvery glow.

       “You are Dalish are you not?”

       “I am.”

       “So you are descended from the elves that were freed by Hessarian?”

       “I believe so.”

       “And you have never been a slave, not even one of the second grade citizens of their alienages that they claim are not slaves?”

       “I have always been of the Dalish; we are the last of the free elves.”

       “We understand that the Dalish claim to be descended from nobility.   Is that also true?”

       “It is what our Keepers teach; I am Cillian Ralaferin of Clan Revassan.”

       “And you are a mage.   What school of magic do you pursue?”

       “An ancient tradition of my people that few now remember.   I follow the path of Dirth’ena Enasalin, the knowledge that leads to victory.”

       “Would you be willing to share this knowledge?”

       “That depends on who asked; I would not share it with the enemies of my people.   Besides it demands many years of intense contemplation.   Few have the patience to be truly proficient.”

       “Yet we understand that you have such discipline and that you took down a general of the Qun in single combat.   Is that so?”

       “That is so.”

       Tiberius glanced right and left at his colleagues on the council.   “Such impressive magic does not come about by chance but the gift of the Maker. How can we argue with the Maker’s will?   He obviously sent you to us so that your gifts could be of service to the Imperium in our ongoing war with the Qun.   Therefore the Archon has authorised me to make you an honorary citizen of the Imperium, Laetan class, and offer you a seat on the Magisterium.   Do you accept?”

       Enavir was dumbfounded at what he had just heard.   He glanced at Fenris who looked equally astounded as though unable to believe his ears.   Even the normally calm, equable Cillian looked bewildered and suffered a temporary loss of composure.   He briefly glanced back at Enavir and raised his eyebrows questioningly.   Enavir was certain there was a catch to this somewhere; there had to be, but they could worry about that later.   He gave a brief nod and Cillian looked back at the Council.

       “I accept.”

       Tiberius smiled genially and the majority of the others council members looked equally satisfied.   Only Alia and the other Laetans looked sour at the admission of Cillian to their ranks.

       “Being a member of the Magisterium places certain obligations on you, such as upholding our laws.   However, it also means that you can be appointed to an official position within our government, for example as the governor of one of our provinces, the newly created state of Arlathan Forest. There you will have a degree of autonomy at a local level.   As such you control the Servus Publicus and where deemed appropriate you can create such liberati as you see fit.   I trust you understand your obligations in this respect?”

       Tiberius gave a knowing self-satisfied smile and Enavir realised how well they had trapped them into a solution that gave them what they wanted without actually conceding anything on the part of the Imperium.   In making Cillian, a mage, a Magister, they had ensured that the normal process of government had been maintained.   They had given the entire army into his keeping without conceding they were anything but slaves of the Imperium, so Cillian could free them but without setting a precedent for the rest of the country.   Furthermore he was bound to uphold their laws, so would be obliged to return any errant slaves that sought refuge in his province to their rightful owner.   If his new subjects caused trouble or Cillian failed to uphold the edicts of the Imperium, then they could safely strip him of his title and position as a traitor of the state.

       Even so, despite the obvious restrictions and adverse implications of the appointment, Enavir had to admit that it was still an enormous achievement to have gained a seat on the Magisterium and was something that could be passed on to future generations if Cillian survived long enough to have any heirs.   Enavir realised they would have to guard his safety very carefully from now on but he felt that Cillian’s liberati would oblige.

       He also appreciated what a crafty move it had been on Dorian’s part.   Cillian would be another supporter in the Magisterium and therefore assist his efforts at reform, whilst Dorian had managed to maintain a reasonably conservative stance in suggesting the idea of raising Cillian to the Laetans class, which Enavir had no doubt he had.  

       The Altus, of course, had no objection to elevating an elf to a class that was clearly below their own, whilst Enavir assumed that the Archon would expect unqualified support from Cillian as the price of his patronage.  In fact Enavir suspected the Archon was going to rather enjoy the political fall out in the south when it became known what had occurred.   To that end, Enavir thought it wise to send word to his allies there as quickly as possible, just in case the nobility should interpret their success in the wrong way.

       “One final thing,” said Tiberius, “we will require you to surrender the captives to us before you leave.”

       There was a brief moment of silence, before Cillian smoothly responded.

       “Naturally, we will hand over all Qunari captives at the same time you release the remaining Servus Publicus to us.”

       Tiberius smiled with satisfaction and nodded.

       “In that case, we will have the papers drawn up ratifying the appointment immediately,” said Tiberius.   “They will be with you by the morning.”

       He stood up and bowed; the other members of the Council did the same.   Cillian, Enavir and Fenris followed suit before departing for their camp.

       “So you’re to be a Magister,” said Fenris nastily. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

       “And you helped put me there,” said Cillian without rancour. “They may think they’ve got me all tied up in a nice little bow but I intend to make the most of it.”

       “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

       “Come now, this isn’t the first time Enavir has succeeded in placing an elf in power.   Throw a pebble in a pond and watch the ripples grow, isn’t that what your mother said?”

       “What about the captives, though?   I take it our troops won’t object.”

       Cillian glanced at Fenris and winked.

       “I said I would surrender all the _Qunari_ captives.   Our troops agreed with us that the rebels from Seheron aren’t real Qunari.   Tevinter can have the rest.”

       As they arrived back at camp, Cillian looked extremely pleased with himself.

       “Let’s see what the Dread Wolf makes of this development. It can only help in our efforts against him.   Just think, I assume I’ll have right of access to the archives in Minrathous now.”

       Enavir stopped short and starred at him.

       “You’re right, I hadn’t thought of that.”

       “But I had,” Cillian gave a broad grin. “I’m not as daft as I appear in accepting their offer, am I?”

       “You can say that again,” Fenris grumbled.

******

       Dorian returned that evening for a last night together and seemed highly delighted with himself.   He even went so far as to bring some wine with him to celebrate.

       “Are you pleased with your Ma sa’lath?”

       “Oh, so that was you big idea was it?”

       “Absolutely. Aren’t I a clever fellow?”

       “Why couldn’t you have warned us a bit?”

       “Your reaction had to be genuine.   Otherwise they might have thought you put me up to it and that wouldn’t have done at all.”

       “But I didn’t.”

       “Yes, but if you hadn’t been so shocked, they might have thought you had.”

       “And that was important was it?”

       “Of course it was.   They had to believe they were getting the better of those cocky elves, particularly you.   The presumption of the fellow, threatening us and he’s not even a mage. So they set you up for a mighty fall; you do realise they expect Cillian to fail don’t you?”

       “Yes, we had got the general idea about that.   I presume we have to watch for assassins from now on.”

       “Not straight away.   They want you to make good on the Qunari problem first.   Then the Archon may well invite Cillian to Minrathous to quiz him about his magical talents. He sounded genuinely intrigued when I told him about the battle with the Qunari general.”

       “Surely you have your own battle mages?”

       “Yes but on the whole they prefer not to stand at the forefront of battle.   Nor do they glow in the way your friend does.     You see I don’t doubt we have records of arcane warriors and that Knight Enchanter skill of Vivienne’s was originally developed in Tevinter, but our bald expert on all things elven claimed that, like so much else, we had only copied what the elves had done before and it was but a pale reflection of the true discipline. From what everyone witnessed in the battle with the Qunari, perhaps he was right.”

       “I must admit his abilities seem to go way beyond anything that Vivienne could do.”

       “There you go then. Mind you she was a southern mage but between you and me, we don’t have anyone like him either. Now whatever else our failings are, we don’t pass up an opportunity to advance our magical skills, however much we dislike admitting we don’t know everything there is to know.   So initially you can expect the Archon to be charming and gracious; just watch the teeth behind the smile.   I think it also amuses him putting one over on the south.”

       “You think so?” Enavir looked at him wide eyed.

       “Stop the act, you know how it is. You’ll recall we wanted the Inquisition disbanded but didn’t like to say so for fear of encouraging the opposite.   We also expected you to accept the Divine’s offer to be her personal army, so when you didn’t but instead disbanded the operation, the Archon and the Black Divine saw it as something of a triumph over her.   I have to admit to accepting a bit of credit with them for bringing that about.   I was our ambassador after all.”

       “Glad to have been of assistance,” Enavir said with sarcasm.

       “I knew you’d understand,” Dorian grinned. “Now the Archon hasn’t forgotten how you sided with Tevinter against Nevarra, which I had previously informed him was entirely your decision, so he felt reasonably kindly disposed towards you. Then you turn up in the nick of time to save Qarinus, having somehow quelled a slave rebellion and state your continued intention to work with us against the Qun, which runs contrary to the southern peace accord.   That is something of a diplomatic coup and snub to the southern rulers, who didn’t have the good sense to keep you on side.   Plus he has the pleasure of annoying all those sycophants who have been courting him like crazy for that vacant seat on the Magisterium.”

       “Until such time as it falls vacant again due to the untimely demise of the upstart elf.”

       “That’s the general idea, yes.   Except you’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, won’t you?”

       “I’ll do my best.”

       “I’m sure you will.”

       He filled Enavir’s glass and raised his own.

       “To us; Cheers!”

       They both downed the toast and Dorian charged the glasses a second time.

       “I’m still surprised that the Archon was able to do that?”

       “Not so strange.   Our history is full of Archons deciding to favour some low born nobody, for whatever reason if you know what I mean,” Dorian raised his eyebrows expressively. “Archon Almadrius even chose a foreigner for his heir, not long after the conquest of Arlathan.   A Planasene lad called Tidarion.   It caused no end of a rumpus and a civil war after the old man was assassinated.   The upshot at the end of it all was Laetans being admitted to the temples for the first time; this was before the Chantry you must understand, and allowing them three seats in the Magisterium.   Then there is Aurelian Titus under the last Archon.   No one had a clue where he sprang from but it was thought he had been aiding the Archon from the shadows for years, together with his fanatical dragon cult.   Even after the current Archon took the throne, Aurelian’s influence didn’t diminish.   Radonis might not have approved of him but there were plenty of Magisters who did.   He even challenged the Black Divine with impunity.”

       “What happened to him?”

       “He came to an unfortunate end in his fortress on Seheron and that was the end of that. Maevaris was involved in his downfall but she has been a bit secretive on the detail. So you see whilst I can’t recall an instance with an elf before, the Archon acting on his own initiative, regardless of how the Magisterium might respond, is not without precedent.”

       “Still, elevating an elf?”

       “It’s a bit like our stance over Andraste.   If someone has shown himself to be your equal in magical ability, it is preferable to admit them to your ranks and claim them as one of your own. You did notice the whole ‘gift of the Maker’ bit didn’t you? Besides I wouldn’t be surprised if at least some of those earlier low born mages had a bit of elf blood in them.”

       “You might yourself.”

       “Whatever are you suggesting; my mother would have the vapours if she heard you.”

       “It just seems mighty coincidental to me that only a short time after we allegedly felt the quickening, which is when the Veil went up, you have all these dreamers appearing among the Neromenian tribes, when in theory their magical ability should have been getting weaker not stronger.   There is evidence down south that humans and elves may well have been co-habiting when the Evanuris were still in power.   What about in the north as well?   It could even account for the prohibition against mixing with humans and the withdrawal from contact, if the result of any relations between the two races always turned out human in appearance and yet they had magical ability.     You humans may not even have had mages among you before.   It was only the introduction of elf blood that caused them to appear.   Have you ever considered that?”

       “Amatus, you are delightfully subversive in your ideas but I’d keep that one to yourself from now on if I were you.   Just content yourself with the elf Magister you have got rather than try and prove we’re all mongrels who owe our magic to you.”

       Enavir chuckled.   “So I’m good enough to sleep with but not to be your distant relative?”

       “Very distant if you ask me.   Still you have to admit I _am_ beautiful enough to be an elf.”

       “A Dalish, perhaps, passionate, proud and indomitable.”

       “You do say the nicest things to me,” Dorian grinned.   “Well it may be our last opportunity to be together for quite a while so I say we make it count; how about you?”

       “Finally, I thought you’d never get around to it.”

       “I like to delay it as long as possible; it’s more fun that way.”

       “Oh really?” Enavir gave him a seductive smile. “Show me.”

       Dorian laughed wickedly and they tumbled together onto the bed.

**  
**


	17. Chapter 17

       The following morning the promised document confirming Cillian’s authority was delivered to them.   Dorian confirmed that it was genuine so there was nothing to stop them getting underway for Arlathan once the remaining slaves had been delivered as well.   They started to assemble their army while waiting for them.   When they finally appeared, Enavir was surprised to see women and children among them. He looked questioningly at Dorian.

       “There was some debate over whether to keep families together or not.   I think they finally decided that it might be expedient not to give your forces a reason for wanting to return here, plus it is less mouths to feed.   The men are predominantly from the Servus Publicus, so not true soldiers with military rank as slaves aren’t allowed this. You’ll have to arm them. The woman and children are personal servants who have been granted liberati status so they can leave legally.   Qarinus has not lost all its slaves to you but they have reluctantly given up as many of the able bodied elven ones as was expedient, bearing in mind Fenris had already liberated a good number.   If it is any consolation, the slaves you leave behind are likely to be treated well, seeing as they will now be even more valuable.   Slaver ships are not going to be able to get past the dreadnoughts and I assume that any coming up from the direction of Antiva are likely to be waylaid by your forces.”

       “I still wish I could have freed them all.”

       “Give it time.   They may yet decide it is in their interests to make everyone a liberati.   Be content with what you have achieved.   Every slave you now have with you has not only been freed from servitude to Tevinter but also to the Qun.   That is a lot of people with a brighter future to look forward to.”

       “Unless Solas succeeds in his plans.”

       “Well I’d say your actions should give him pause for thought as well.”

       “Let’s hope so.”

       Dorian rode with them as far as his family’s ancestral home, an estate a few miles to the eastern side of the city.   It was a sorry sight.   The Qunari clearly had no use for the main palace, which had been ransacked and then burnt.   The outbuildings were still intact, obviously being seen as more practical, and the fields whilst trampled by hundreds of feet, would recover in time. Even so, it was obvious the effect it had on Dorian as he surveyed the destruction of the home where he grew up.

       “I’m sorry, Dorian,” Enavir sympathised.

       “It’s stupid really,” Dorian said with a catch in his voice. “I never liked all that ancestral legacy stuff and my memories of this place, particularly the recent ones, are anything but pleasant, yet I can’t help feeling its loss.”

       “It was your home.   There is something about the place you grew up in that has a hold on you; even if some of the memories associated with it are bad.”

       “Then you should be thankful you don’t have that problem. Your home goes with you.”

       “I felt it went we went to the Exalted Plains and in the Emerald Graves.   Though it was the first time I had ever set foot there, I could feel the sense of loss.   It was our home once and it still had a hold on my psyche.   It’s okay to grieve for it Dorian.”

       “Thank you, my friend.” He sat for several more minutes in reverential silence, before giving a resigned sigh.   “Well it’s not as though it is lost for good.   I can always rebuild.   At least my servants are safe; I told them to flee if danger approached and not to fight or try to save it. I have that consolation.”

       “Would you like me to stay longer?”

       “No, I’ll be fine, Amatus.   You need to ensure the success of your venture and start searching Arlathan as soon as possible.   They’ve restored order in Carastes, so I’m going to try and get a ship for Minrathous from there.   I’ve done all I can here for the present.”

       “I’ll keep you posted on developments our end.  Oh, I nearly forgot”, he reached into his saddlebag.   “This is a copy of a document that Varric sent me. I think it may be in ancient Tevene.   It may have no relevance to our conflict with Solas but I would like to be sure, so if there is anyone who can translate it, I’d be grateful.”

       “Of course, I’ll make discrete enquiries as soon as I get back.   Maker watch over you.”

       “And you too.”

       They headed south-east on leaving Dorian’s estate with the intention of joining up with their caravan the following day.   The Qunari prisoners of war had been left to the mercy of the rulers in Qarinus.   Enavir didn’t give much for their chances of receiving any but given the treatment that had been meted out to the mages of Marothius, he couldn’t entirely blame the Council if they took what revenge they could.   There was little alternative.   He couldn’t have them taking up valuable resources guarding them and he wasn’t about to push his luck with the Tevinter mage lords by arguing for the welfare of hostile captives, particularly as he didn’t want to draw attention to the ones he hadn’t handed over.  

       The march was far more relaxed than on the way to Qarinus.   He didn’t doubt there were more enemy forces ahead of them but there wasn’t the same sense of urgency in engaging with them and it was an opportunity for their assorted people to bond together as a group.   Even so, they did seem to have split themselves into three distinct parties.   There were the Dalish and city elves from Starkhaven, who still looked to Enavir for leadership; there were those ex-slaves and Seheron captives who were suspicious of anyone magical and thus gravitated towards Fenris and finally, by far the largest group, those who looked to Cillian for direction.   Given he was going to be their official head of government, this wasn’t entirely a bad thing; in fact Enavir admitted that if they were to be kept from descending into the savagery of Perivantium it was vital that someone did hold their respect.   In some ways it was almost a relief to relinquish the burden of leadership and he didn’t envy Cillian his task of maintaining order, particularly as it wasn’t something he had aspired to as he explained to Enavir as they rode together on the march.

       “You know I was originally being trained as First to our Keeper Elindra but she could see my heart wasn’t in it and so when I asked to be released from my duty, she did not stand in my way.”

       “What was wrong with it?”

       “I was fascinated with the old tales but I wanted to be a part of them; not just preserve and retell them.   I didn’t really care about the welfare of others; just wanted to improve my own skills, seeking after the glory of the ancient elves.”

       “I suppose I was no different in my own way.   I wanted to be a mage and one day succeed my mother as Keeper but not out of concern for my clan mates so much as a desire to be the embodiment of our ancestors.   Then I discovered I wasn’t a mage.   That was such a blow to me at the time.   I could never be a true elf.”

       “Is that really what you believed?”

       “Yes, stupid really, but that is the truth of it.   To begin with I wouldn’t accept the reality of my situation and prayed to Mythal to grant me magic.   When she didn’t answer my prayers, I thought it was because I was unworthy, so I set out to prove myself to her. I’d be the best hunter, tracker and protector of my clan I could possibly be but it didn’t occur to me that I had to care about the other members of the clan as well and I really resented those who did have magic.   Poor Atisha had the worst of it because she wasn’t born a Dalish.   Her parents asked us to take her so she wouldn’t have to go into the Circle.   She had to leave her family because of her magic and all I could think of was why does she have it and not me?   It didn’t help that I realised around the same time that I wasn’t attracted to women and thought that had something to do with the lack of magic.”

       “But it doesn’t.”

       “Well I know that now.”   Enavir laughed, before continuing.  

       “In the end it was Atisha who helped me realise the real problem was in me trying too hard and wanting to be the best for the wrong reasons. She was really sweet and forgiving about me being such a jerk to her and that’s when I realised that actually she would always have been a better First than me even if I’d had the magic. So I stopped trying to live up to an impossible ideal and started genuinely to care about the other members of the clan. When I took the vallaslin of Mythal I deserved them because I really did aspire to be a protector.   I’m glad that at least that part of our lore about her is true.”

       “How come you only have the tears of Mythal?   Did you lose someone you cared about?”

       “Atisha suggested them because that way the girls would stop pestering me.   I was looked upon as a good catch.   They thought it was because Atisha had disappointed me and neither of us cared to enlighten them.   I suppose I had it a bit back to front.   My love was out there waiting to be found.   Then I lost my heart to a Tevinter mage, absolutely the worst choice for an aspiring elven leader.   It’s strange how things work out isn’t it?”

       “Yes, I guess it is. I never wanted to be a Keeper and now look at me; I’m effectively Keeper to the biggest clan in Dalish history.”

       They both laughed at the irony of their situation.

       “So how did you come to choose the vallaslin of June?   Most mages I know either have Mythal or Dirthamen or possibly Sylaise.”

       “I saw magic not so much as secrets to be unlocked as a craft to be perfected.   So I looked to June for inspiration.   It turned out to be true so far as the Dirth’ena Enasalin is concerned. It is an art form and it is not enough just to learn about it; you have to keep working at it to achieve perfection.”

       “Is that what you aspire to, perfection?”

       “Yes, but in every aspect of my life. It’s not just about throwing spells or martial skills; much of it is about training the mind to a state of absolute calm and equilibrium; achieving a sense of oneness with the universe. That’s how I lost my ambition for elven glory and instead started to care about creation itself and all things living within it.”

       “If only more Magisters thought as you do.”

       “I prefer the title of Keeper among my own but does not Dorian think as I do?”

       “Not in the same way as you.   For a start off striving for perfection has very negative associations for him; it means something totally different in Tevinter.   Don’t get me wrong; he is a good man and I love him dearly but you are as different from one another as chalk and cheese. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.   You are the same in one respect though; neither of you wanted the responsibility of being a Magister.   It’s probably why you are both the best people to be given it.”

       “What of you?   Would you not make a good Magister?”

       “You tell me.   For a time I was as good as one was I not? I even had the magic that I had longed for.   Then it was all taken away.”

       “It was you choice to disband it.”

       “Yes, I did and it was the right one; otherwise I would be running errands for the Divine and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.   Everything has worked out for the best in the end but it isn’t how I would have planned it. There must be a moral to that somewhere.”

       “Enavir is best when he’s winging it?” Cillian arched an eyebrow at him and smiled.

       “Something like that.”

       They continued on in silence for a while.   Enavir reflected on the conversation and realised that he had never opened up to anyone in that way before outside of his own clan, apart from Dorian. There was a sense of intimacy that he had never felt even with the other members of his clan, a spiritual connection that was closer to what he had with Dorian.

       There was no danger of him betraying his relationship with Dorian for Cillian but he felt less bereft and alone now they were apart again; like having a devoted brother that he could rely on and for whom he had a great affection.

       It then occurred to him that Cillian had made no mention of anyone in his life for whom he had felt an affection similar to his own for Dorian.   He wondered if it had purely been from ambition that he had left his clan; had he been trying to forget an unrequited love or escape the same expectations that Enavir had resisted in taking the tears of Mythal?   The very fact that he hadn’t mentioned anyone suggested to Enavir that either there had been no one or the memory was too painful to admit to, even to him. He respected his privacy enough not to ask but hoped that Cillian would trust him with the truth eventually. Of course there was another possibility; that he was the object of the unrequited love.   He hoped that wasn’t the case; he really didn’t want to be the cause of pain to Cillian.

       The following day they joined up with the caravan as planned.   Those in their ranks who had left relatives in Marothius were relieved to be reunited with them but it was clear that most of the ex-slaves seemed to have no real family connections.   Enavir realised that this would have made it easier for them to accept the strictures of the Qun, even if they had been told about them in advance.   Giving them a structure to their lives and a moral framework to live by was an important part of their rehabilitation as free people, as Atisha was quick to point out when she briefed him how their time had gone since he left them.

       “They aren’t what I expected, Enavir.   May be I was being rather naïve but I was imagining some downtrodden, subservient individuals, like in the alienages, accepting the situation because the odds were stacked against them but nevertheless having a sense of community.   Some of them are like that; the domestic elves, the ones who served in the houses of their overlords.   Most of them, though, aren’t like that at all.   They are fierce and much of the time only one step away from savagery.   Back in the clan, if someone didn’t like what the Keeper told them to do, they just said so and left it at that.   These elves look like they want to murder you, if you ask them to do something they don’t like, and they have this odd way of looking at my staff as though that is the only thing keeping them in order.”

       “It probably is; they fear your magic because in the past it has been used to punish them.   I shouldn’t have placed you in danger like that in your condition. Are you okay?”

       “I’m fine and well able to cope with pregnancy, so don’t imagine that is a problem. As for the liberati, you needn’t worry, I’ve got Joss remember and Smoke?   Mind you, they don’t help one another either; it’s quite the opposite.   They’ll stab their neighbour if he upsets them or has something they want.”

       “They’ve been brutalised.   I dare say Dorian has no idea of what it is like for them.   He has only seen house servants and in the case of his family they have been treated well. Many servants are reasonably well educated because they are looking after the family and that doesn’t just involve manual labour but keeping accounts and teaching the children when they are small. Even then though there would be competition between slaves.   Briala told me that was the case between servants in Orlais, so I imagine it would be no different here.   Surely though the alienages have their rough elements?”

       “True but the hostility tended to be directed towards outsiders; thieves robbed from the humans, not their own.   We tried to help one another out and people were grateful when we did. These elves are different.”

       “Tell me about it; I nearly messed up my status with them.   I was so convinced of their support simply because we had helped them; I put off telling them about Dorian at first but thought that by Qarinus they wouldn’t react so adversely to seeing me with him.”

       “That’s universal isn’t it?   It took some pretty strong persuasion and a large number of ancient artefacts to persuade the Dalish to overlook your perceive crime and they only had to hear about it, which in a way made it easier.   The alienages aren’t that much more accepting either; there’s been many an elf ostracised and excluded from the community because they took a human lover.   Mind you, that is partly because we mostly have marriages arranged by our elders, so it is a double slight to our traditions.”

       “I dare say I was being naïve and self-centred in not taking into consideration how slaves might react to the spectacle of seeing me in the arms of a Magister.   May be I did become complaisant as Inquisitor and got too used to being able to defy convention because of the power at my disposal.   Cillian assures me they have accepted I’m not in Dorian’s pocket but it may be for the best I’m playing second to Cillian now.   He doesn’t have a despised lover burdening his reputation.”

       “You are starting to sound bitter, Enavir.”

       “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.   In some ways it has come as a relief that I can finally have the spotlight taken away from me.   I’ve been feeling the pressure of so much expectation. Besides the mage lords would never have offered us the terms they did if I’d insisted on being in charge.”

       “How does Cillian feel about it?”

       “Slightly overwhelmed I think but I know he’ll cope okay.   He’s much calmer than me and thinks before he acts.   He’ll make a fine Keeper of our fierce new clan.”

       “Keeper?   Fenris was muttering on about him being a Magister.   He didn’t approve.”

       “So he claims.   That’s why Cillian is avoiding the title really; because of the bad connotations with ex-slaves.   He’ll only use it when dealing with the Tevinter officials.   Fenris knows, though, that this is a huge concession on their part and we should make the most of it.   He’s probably also angry at himself for helping Cillian acquire so great a reputation with the slaves that the Magisters decided to use it.     Dorian pointed out that from what we were told about them, an Evanuris was just a Magister by a different name; so even if the mage lords aren’t aware of it, they have just restored a rightful ruler of Arlathan from an elven point of view.”

       “Cillian isn’t a god though.”

        “No but neither were they to begin with.   Fenris knew exactly what he was doing when he arranged with Cillian that he should fight the Kith in single combat; he can hardly complain about it now.   It is a strange thing but it is almost as though we are recreating a bit of our ancient history.   The Creators taught us how to take care of ourselves and gave us laws and codes to live by.   Isn’t that what we are doing for these slaves?   Joss and Enansal are teaching them how to hunt and scout.   Anierin is giving them lessons in close combat and urban awareness.   Others from our number are teaching them how to cook, sew, make weapons, drive the wagons and care for the horses.   You are teaching them social skills and how to read and write.   I am passing on stories of our heroes and giving them a code to live by.   Cillian is giving them a source of pride in what he represents but at the same time an example of respect for others that they can emulate.   Does this not sound exactly like what the Creators are said to have done with our ancestors?”

       “I hadn’t really thought of it like that.   May be they were primitive savages who needed leadership to become something more.   Thank you, Enavir, for reminding me why we came north; to offer the hope of a better future to these people.”

       Lauren was less magnanimous about her experiences with the liberated slaves.

       “About time you got back to us; it’s been awful trying to keep them in order.   I was constantly finding them ferreting about in things that had been entrusted to me and they didn’t respect my word on it; I ended up having to threaten them with violence.   Not that they restricted their unwelcome advances simply to your goods. At least the human ones didn’t. I figure someone told them my former profession, bastards.”

       “May be they just found you attractive and they haven’t learnt to have inhibitions.”

       “Well they know to have them now.   I didn’t need a big glowing stick for them to respect me.”

       “I’m sure you didn’t,” Enavir grinned.   “You’ve come a long way from the timid girl I knew back in Starkhaven.”

       “Hmph,” she glared at him.   “I’m glad someone finds it amusing.   Just remember, next time you decide to go off gallivanting, I want to come too.”

       “We weren’t having fun; we were fighting for our lives.”

       “Bet it was more fun than trying to teach these bastards to keep their hands to themselves.   Did you at least get to see Dorian again?”

       “Yes, although that didn’t go down well with the slaves.”

       “Ungrateful sods, although may be you deserved it, leaving me behind.   You know I was longing to meet him.”

       “I can see your time with the slaves hasn’t improved you vocabulary. You never used the swear this much.”

       “You never gave me cause.”

       “Okay, how about this, next time I’m planning on visiting Dorian, I promise I’ll take you with me?”

       “You mean that?” She looked at him suspiciously.   “What’s the catch?”

       “There isn’t one; maybe I just need someone to watch my back who doesn’t hate my lover.   Plus they’re less likely to ask questions about a human than an elf.   You never know when that might prove useful.”

       “Fair enough, I’ll forgive you this time.” She grinned. “So tell me all about it.”

       He told her a full account of everything that had occurred from when they had left them in Marochius.   Her eyes shone when he recounted the battle between Cillian and the Kith.

       “That must have been amazing; steady old Cillian strutting his stuff. It seems I didn’t just miss out on meeting Dorian.   Why didn’t you fight the Kith, though?”

       “Fenris and Cillian thought I might get myself killed; they probably weren’t so far wrong at that.”

       He then went on to recount the whole of the breaking of the siege of Qarinus.

       “So you see, it turns out I’m not invincible after all; far from it.”

       “As if you really believed that before,” she snorted, “not with a sword anyway.   I saw your match with Prince Sebastian and I’d wager against anyone that you are peerless with a bow.   You’re like me, though, quick and agile; you’re not built for standing toe to toe.   I wouldn’t have thought Cillian was either.”

       “It’s his magic and the discipline of the Arcane Warrior that gives him the edge. Why do you think southern Thedas fears mages so much?   It’s not the danger of possession; that might be what the commoners fear but not the nobility.   It’s the advantage magic gives over the ordinary warrior.   I always aim for the mage first in any battle.”

       “Must be hard knowing which to go for when you’re fighting Tevinters then.”

       “Actually it’s easier to spot them and if you miss one there’s a good chance your arrow will still hit another.”

       Lauren laughed.   “No false modesty with me. You forget; I know you don’t miss.” She took hold of the scabbard with Glandivalis that was on a hook on the wagon she had driven and drew the sword, looking curiously at the blade.   “So what did happen with the Qunari?”

       “I really have no idea.   I forgot to ask Dorian if he had any suggestions.   I was terrified at first that he might have intervened with blood magic but he was down by the harbour at the time.”

       “Someone else could have done so.   What about Cillian?”

       “He doesn’t do blood magic; he doesn’t need to.   I doubt any of the Tevinter would have been concerned about my welfare whether they knew of Dorian’s interest in me or not.   In fact if they knew how much I meant to him or who I was, they’d likely have let the Qunari have me. It’s a puzzle and no mistake.”

       “There are odd markings on the blade.”

       “They’re called runes and those ones look elvish; which is odd because the sword was said to have belonged to Andraste’s mother before her; then she gave it to Shartan.   One version of the story has Shartan naming the sword but the Chant seems to indicate that was already its name.   No one living today seems to have any idea what the name means.”

       “Could there be some special magic on it to protect the bearer?”

       “It’s possible but it’s no magic I’ve ever heard of.”

       “Your belt protects you.”

       “Yes, but it doesn’t send my enemy crazy so they start attacking their own men. The only magic I’ve ever heard of that does that is blood magic.   Cillian said the same.”

       “That would be funny wouldn’t it; Andraste owning a magic sword that does mind control?   The Chantry worthies would wet themselves if they knew.”

       “That’s one way of looking at it.”

       “You’re not thinking of getting rid of it are you?”

       “Don’t be daft; it’s Glandivalis.   It has symbolic power even if I don’t wield it.   Besides it is clear that I should only use it as a last resort; I’m far more comfortable using my bow.”

       “That’s okay then.   I wonder if it protects against mind magic being used on you.”

       “It would certainly be good if it does.   I really must find out what those runes mean.”

       “Use with caution,” suggested Lauren and they both laughed.

       Their horde continued their progress eastwards.   There were no obvious signs of the Qunari but scouts returned to report finding vacant land holdings.   Some people may have fled west to the Qarinus but it seemed more likely that they had been taken by surprise and captured so they would not alert the city to the advancing army.   The Qun always seemed to prefer subduing a population rather than killing them outright; they even had a use for enemy mages.   Still the lack of any sign of the enemy made Enavir suspect that some survivors of the siege had successfully evaded capture and warned those who had been left to fortify their position in the rear.   They had likely occupied the Tevinter outpost on the edge of Arlathan and were awaiting their assailants there.   The Council of Qarinus had helpfully supplied them with a map showing its location and that of various watch towers.

       That evening Cillian asked to see Glandivalis.   He studied the runes on the blade and then closed his eyes as if meditating on their meaning.   Then he handed back the sword.

       “The stories of Andraste always link her to the Alamarri but her mother, Brona, wasn’t from Ferelden at all.   She was Ciriane. Did you know that?”

       “I’ve tended to concentrate of the history connected with Shartan and the conflict with Tevinter.”

       “I thought as much.   You should learn not to skip bits when you read your books. Lauren let me see the book you brought with you from the Inquisition on the family of Andraste.”

       “Oh that one; I assumed it was all about bloodlines and such.   I read the bit about Andraste’s descendants but it didn’t really seem relevant to what I was doing at the time.”

       “You never know what might be relevant when it comes to politics,” Cillian gave a meaningful look.   “For a start off, the Chantry claims that the Dales were given to us by Maferath or his sons out of gratitude for our assistance.   In fact I suspect that it had already been given by Andraste herself and he did not dare repudiate the gift.”

       “I’ve thought as much myself, even if he didn’t mind betraying her to Tevinter.”

       “That was different; probably a matter of expediency.   However, if the Dales had been promised to Shartan under blood oath, then that would be something he would be very loath to violate.   Brona was a princess of the Ciriane and her people occupied lands across the area that came to be known as the Fertile Crescent.   That comprised what is now known as the Heartlands of Orlais and may well have encompassed the Dales as well if you think how a crescent would look on a map.   Elderath married Brona to secure an alliance with these tribes and thus a united front against Tevinter.   Brona owned Glandivalis before Andraste and this sword is undoubtedly of elven origin.   Many of the ruins in the Dales pre-date our time there and we know that Mythal had a Temple complex in the south.   Glandivalis is a relic of the elven empire; I’m sure of it. In giving Shartan the sword and promising his People the Dales, maybe she felt she was just restoring something of what they had lost so long ago to Tevinter.”

       “They say that the elves made their last stand on Sundermount.   It is claimed that Andraste visited there and was almost inconsolable when she left.   I wondered if she had communicated with the spirits of that place and had a vision of what had occurred there.”

       “Quite possibly, you can learn so much from spirits about the past.”

       “As you did?”

       “As I still do. I have a guardian spirit that I consult with and that aids me in battle. Don’t be afraid; I’m not an abomination or anything like that.”

       “It’s okay; it sounds more what I experienced with the Avaar.   Their Auger seemed to consult with spirits on a daily basis and Ameridan’s memories included a reference to a spirit that he consulted with. I wondered what it meant.”

       “Likely the relationship was the same as my own.   The spirit protects me from mind control as well.   They have already tried to send demons against me.”

       “Who? The Tevinter?”

       Cillian nodded.   “I must assume it was them.   You have a guardian spirit too.   They are drawn to those who genuinely care about the world but in your case it has a specific anchor.”

       “Glandivalis?”

       “That is correct.   Andraste gave Shartan more than just a sword.”

       “Do you think she knew?”

       “I’m sure of it.   The sword was likely passed to her by her Mother specifically for her protection but she was convinced that she had the Maker’s favour, so she gave it to Shartan.”

       “Shartan was also lost.”

       “You can only do so much against treachery; why do you suppose Glandivalis wound up in the possession of a demon?   The spirit of the sword protects in battle against specific foes and cutting them with the blade allows it to focus on their mind and control it.”

       “So it is blood magic.”

       “Of a sort; it also protects you from mental intrusion with the intent of controlling you in battle.   Spirits can still see into your mind; they just can’t control it.”

       “See into my mind?   Cole seemed to be able to do that, not just with me but everyone.”

       “All spirits can; although mostly it is just picking up on the emotions of the person, how they are feeling, and not specific thoughts.”

       “I see; well, thank you for explaining it to me.”

       “My pleasure,” he nodded.   He paused for a moment as if considering what he should do next, then gave a warm smile at Enavir.   “There was never anything romantic between Andraste and Shartan; that play of the Orlesians was truly insulting to their memory. Gisharel wasn’t wrong in his tale of the Dales; Andraste did call Shartan brother, not just as the Chantry do their brothers and sisters.   She loved him as a brother of her own blood; as I do you.   I know from my spirit, it was troubling you, so I just wanted you to know.”

       “Thank you,” Enavir responded with a degree of surprise.

       “Don’t worry”, he said softly, “I’ve asked the spirit not to give me any more personal information of that nature.”

       With that he departed into the night.


	18. Chapter 18

       The following day the land became more undulating as they left the coastal farmlands and entered the approach to Arlathan Forest.   The grassy plain was broken by small outcrops of trees and shrubs.   Ahead lay a mighty forest; the trees ranged like sentinels to greet them.   Cillian called a halt to their march and went down on one knee to pray.   Like a wave spreading back along the trail, the rest of the host followed suit.   Enavir could feel the emotion welling up in him as it had at the Arlathvhen. The elves were on the threshold of their ancient home. They had come north for this moment; whatever else followed they were about to fulfil their aim on setting out; they had freed the slaves of the eastern cities and liberated Qarinus from the Qun.   All that remained was to retake Arlathan.  

       The scouts confirmed that the Tevinter fortress was in the next valley, on the edge of the treeline.   It was occupied and they had seen horned warriors walking the battlements.   The gates were shut and there was no sign of anyone in the surrounding area. Clearly the Qun had been forewarned of their arrival and were anticipating a siege.  

       Cillian called together the leaders of their band. He had spent much of the time while they waited on the Council’s decision in organising their liberati forces. Initially Enavir had been involved in this too but a degree of lingering animosity over his relationship with Dorian meant that it had been best left to Cillian.   Enavir had simply offered advice when he thought it appropriate.  

       The military personnel had been divided into cohorts of fifty, all infantry, with each group urged to elect their own leader, who would be given the rank of captain. This established a clear chain of command but also allowed them to assume responsibility for their own actions and those of the soldiers under their command, rather than always taking orders from the southerners.   Anierin was now freed up from leading the caravan from Perivantium and installed as a general along with Enansal, with three thousand warriors each, with sixty captains answering to them.   The remaining group that comprised the foot soldiers from Perivantium and the remaining liberati from Marothius, four thousand warriors in total, with eighty captains, were placed under Fenris, who accepted the responsibility until such time as the Qunari were defeated.   Josmael resumed his command of the Dalish cavalry, with the addition of liberati riders.   The few mages in their company were directly under the command of Cillian, together with the liberati from Qarinus who were able to fight, some four thousand men and women.

       Atisha had overall responsibility for the auxiliaries and the non-military liberati that had travelled north with them, mostly families of the soldiers but also those liberati who had previously been domestic servants and were not really suited to a fighting role. The non-combatants from Qarinus joined this number.   As was pointed out to them, their contribution was vital in keeping the army supplied and cared for until they could establish permanent settlements.   As usual, Lauren declined responsibility for anyone but herself and caring for Enavir’s needs.   He encouraged extending this service into tending to Cillian, who now had far too much to be worrying about to cater for himself.  

       The number of wagons available to them now amounted to eighty.   Most were needed to carry the non-combatants but there were still enough over to carry supplies to supplement what they could hunt for themselves and equipment such as tents and bedrolls.   One wagon was reserved for the personal effects of Enavir and Cillian, where they could also sleep if they wished.   Naturally Lauren was in charge of this.

       Altogether their total numbers amounted to fifteen thousand adults, one hundred and fifty children. Enavir realised they would have to complete their conquest of the Qunari quickly, if they were to establish themselves and become self-sufficient in time for the winter.   Once the people had been provided for, then he could start to focus on searching for ancient ruins.

       The problem was how to how to end the deadlock quickly, since the Qunari had no doubt stocked up with supplies, so could hold out for many weeks, even months and they were safe behind the stone walls of the fortress. To attempt a direct assault would cost the lives of many of their people in trying to scale them without siege equipment.   Whilst the forest could supply the materials, he had no knowledge how to build the latter.

       “We could build a battering ram,” suggested Josmael.

       “Those gates are likely reinforced with magic,” said Cillian, “so we would need more than just a ram but some sort of tilt mechanism that allows us to swing it and create more power when it hits.”

       “No need for that,” said Fenris enigmatically, “once again I have the solution to your problem.   If you and Enavir would come with me, I’ll show you.”

       He led them to their own wagon and the barrels that were attached either side, which they had assumed were water or grain for the horses.

       “This is the reason that Lauren was defending your gear so fiercely in our absence.   These are the materials you need to blow up the gate.”

       “Explode the gate; you mean like Gaatlok?”

       “I can’t say if it is exactly the same as Gaatlok.   That is their refined product and these are just basic raw materials that need combining together.   It is what Anders used to blow up the Chantry in Kirkwall.   Hawke and I knew about it because he tricked us into sourcing the materials for him.   When we talked about it with Varric afterwards he mentioned there was a dwarf, who had been working for the Wardens at Vigil’s Keep, who had come up with some sort of explosive substance that mimicked Gaatlok and he had been forced to go on the run to avoid Qunari agents, so I’d say it is probably very similar.   Anders maintained he got the recipe from an old Tevinter scroll but that is nonsense because the Tevinter would give their eye teeth for this knowledge.   He was probably protecting his former comrade from whom he got the information.   It would be very dangerous in the wrong hands, which is why I wanted as few people to know about it as possible.   You also need to keep the two ingredients apart until you want to use them, because when mixed together they are very volatile.   So what do you think?”

       “You are one secretive son of a bitch,” said Enavir, “but bloody marvellous all the same.”

       “I think that means he approves,” said Cillian dryly.   “So how are we going to deploy it?”

       “I suggest we wait until after dark,” said Fenris.   “Then sneak in and place it along the base of the gate.   Use it sparingly; we don’t want to destroy the fortress, just the gates.   Anders seemed to be able to use some sort of delayed trigger since he was with us when it exploded but I suggest being more obvious with this one.   If Cillian uses his staff to make a spark; that will set it off but it will still look like magic.   No sense in giving away all our secrets just yet.”

       “Let’s do it,” agreed Enavir.

       While daylight lasted they tried to make it appear that they were settling in for a long siege.   The horses were moved back to the rear of the column in case the blast panicked them.   Tents were set up and cooking fires set.  

       Soldiers were deployed around the perimeter of the fortress to ensure that the Qunari didn’t escape by a back entrance once the fighting began, although it would look from the walls as though they were ensuring that supplies or reinforcements couldn’t get in. The rest of the troops were told to appear casual, as though they were getting ready to turn in for the night after their evening meal.   Enavir hoped the Qunari would do the same; thus leaving simply the guards on the walls on alert.   The troops who would undertake the attack would then quietly equip themselves after dark and get into position to wait the signal to move; which their generals knew would be the explosion.

       Fenris showed him how to mix the two substances together and place them in the correct way to maximise the force of the explosion.   Then Enavir set out alone to place the charges, as a single person was less likely to be noticed or worried about if they were seen and he didn’t want anyone else to take the risk.   He had dressed in his specialist shadow armour that he reserved for times when he did not wish to be seen and covered his head with a cowl.   He left his bow propped against a tree sufficient distance from the blast zone and crept forward.  

       There was a full moon that night, so he had to ensure he kept to the shadows.   Luckily the gates were shielded from its light by the turrets either side but even so he had to be careful on the approach.   Once there he removed the two pouches from his bag and carefully combined their contents, before laying a trail along the foot of the gate.   The remainder he poured into a small keg that he had brought with him for the purpose, which he positioned in the middle of the two gates.   His task complete, he retreated back to his vantage point by the tree and gave a sharp whistle, his signal to Cillian.          Lightening crackled from his staff and hit the substance at the base of the gates. There was an initial bang from the line, followed by a roar as the keg exploded and the gate was reduced to splinters.  

       Cillian led their soldiers as they rushed into the courtyard, with Enavir, Fenris and the other mages in hot pursuit.   There were more soldiers on duty than he had expected but they were still soon overwhelmed.   Others trying to exit buildings were picked off by his arrows or magic and their forces continued their progress within the Keep itself.   The Qunari fought fiercely with no thought of surrender, but the liberati more than matched them in ferocity and it was a lost cause from the moment the elven forces breached the gates, particularly with Cillian at the head of affairs; with a combination of magical firepower and spirit blade, he was virtually unstoppable.   Once again, they had won the battle with only minimal cost to their own troops.   There was every reason to celebrate.

       Leaving the bulk of their forces outside to spread the good news, Enavir and Cillian took a small group with them on a tour of the fortress to check for hidden traps and look for any prisoners.   It was puzzling that there seemed no sign of any civilians from the surrounding countryside. They had also yet to discover what had happened to the Soporati from Marothius.   According to the slave warriors, the group of Qunari controlling these prisoners had split off from their army not long after leaving the city.   Clearly they must have been moved somewhere further east but the question was, where?   The Arlathan Forest covered a wide area, probably ten thousand square miles and it would take weeks to search it all, even if focussing on the Tevinter watchtowers on their map might speed progress a bit.

       They searched the dungeon, which had no occupants, and then worked their way systematically around the fortress looking for clues.   There was a rather grand suite of rooms at the top of the main keep, which they guessed had been the residence of the previous Tevinter commander, before being re-purposed as the command centre for the Qunari.   There was a desk with a map, very similar to their own, with nothing useful indicated on it, and various documents that appeared to be written in Qunlat, which were not likely to be helpful to them since Fenris only had a working knowledge of the spoken language and had only recently learned to read common script.   Enavir was beginning to think their search had produced a dead end when they heard a slight scuffling that sounded louder than simply rodents. It came from what looked like book shelf.   A careful survey revealed a hidden switch, that Enavir tripped and the shelf swung open to reveal a shallow alcove and a terrified looking male elf, middle aged, with slightly greying hair and dressed in simple clothing.

       “Please don’t hurt me I beg you.   I mean no harm.”

       “Hmm, how long have you been in there?”

       “Ages and ages; I was trying to avoid the Qunari.”

       “Really?” Enavir couldn’t help smiling at the absurd story.   “It’s okay men, you can stand down.   I think Cillian and I have got the measure of this one.   Go ahead, relax and enjoy yourselves.”

       After the others had left the room, Enavir nodded towards the door; Cillian took his meaning and closed it.   Enavir gestured to a comfortable looking chair.

       “Do take a seat.”   The elf complied, still looking nervous. “What’s your name?”

       “Wilfyr.”

       “Is that all?”   The elf gave a brief nod.

       “Liberati then or possibly a slave.”

       “I was the personal slave of Magister Livia Herathinos.”

       “Was?   Is she dead then?”

       “I don’t know…I mean I assume she must be…she’s not here is she?”

       “Luckily for you, she isn’t.   So Wilfyr, how about you tell us what you were really doing with the Qunari?”

       “I told you I was hiding from them.”

       “This is starting to get tiresome. Cillian explain to our friend here why his story is so ludicrous.”

       “Your clothes look clean and you certainly don’t smell like someone who has been hidden for weeks, nor do you look starved of sustenance, not to mention how you managed to defecate in that little space and yet leave no sign.”

       “Okay, I hid when the fighting started.”

       “You’re a Qunari agent,” asserted Enavir. “Let me guess, there weren’t enough slaves here for you to start a proper revolt but you were able to arrange for Qunari to get into this outpost and take it over without a warning being raised.”

       “Are you going to kill me?”

       “We ought to,” said Cillian.   “We hold this province on behalf of Tevinter.   I’m its new governor.”

       “Magister Cillian Ralaferin Revassan to give him his full title.”

       Wilfyr looked from one to the other dumbfounded, clearly unable to believe what he had just heard.   Finally he found his voice.

       “There is no such thing as an elf Magister.”

       “There is now,” Cillian gave a slight smile.   “Although I prefer the title, Keeper.”

       “Now ain’t that a surprise?” Enavir said with a broad grin.   “So you see Master Wilfyr, I think you chose the wrong side in this war.  However, you can still salvage the situation, if you start being honest with us.   Starting with a full account of how you came to be involved with the Qunari.”

       “Why should I?   If you’re a Magister, you’re with them.   So go ahead, kill me, or more likely use your cursed blood magic on me, but I’ll not talk willingly.”

       “A man of integrity, well that’s a rare commodity in Tevinter.   What are we going to do with him, Cillian?”

       “Nothing,” said Cillian. He looked directly at Wilfyr.   “I don’t use blood magic. I’m working with Tevinter because I like the Qun even less. They’d fill me with qamek and kill my mind.   Is that what they did to your mistress?”

       “How should I know? I haven’t seen her since the day they arrived. Whatever they did to her she deserved it.” He pulled up a sleeve and showed them his arm crisscrossed with old scars.   “That’s what I’ve had to endure ever since I was a child, from her father and then her.   It was never enough to kill me, just enough to help her get an edge over her rivals.   I was too useful to her in other ways. Others weren’t so lucky.   I saw her drain the life blood out of my mother.   That’s when I swore to bring her and the whole corrupt cabal down if I was ever given the chance.”

       “And the Qun offered you that chance.”

       “That’s right.”

       “Thank you for being so honest with us,” said Enavir.

       Wilfyr’s face twisted in anger at being tricked into revealing anything to them but he remained resolutely defiant.

       “So what _are_ you going to do with me?”

       “I repeat, nothing,” said Cillian. “The thing is there are aspects of the philosophy of Koslun that I can agree with.   There is his emphasis on working together as a community; just as the Dalish do.   Then there is the teaching about achieving balance and mastery over oneself.   I strive to do just that with my magic.   It is the fact that your emotions control you that I know you have not fully embraced the Qun and therefore there is still some hope for you.   Your anger with Tevinter over your mother is justified but if you had been raised in the Qun, you would not even know your mother.   They could sacrifice her with impunity; they could even order you to do the deed and you wouldn’t even be aware of it.”

       “You would be as much a useful commodity to them as you have been with the Tevinter,” said Enavir. “You don’t choose your role; it is assigned to you on the basis of what they think you are best suited for.   If you don’t like it, then tough; if you object too much then they send you for re-education.   If that doesn’t work, then they fill you with qamek, just like they do with foreign mages.   It turns you into a mindless drone, working out the rest of your days in manual labour with no desire to do anything else.”

       “Many of those gathered outside have suffered the same as you, probably far more,” continued Cillian. “They were going to give themselves to the Qun but they have now decided differently.   Many of them are not happy about our working with Tevinter and still less about my friend’s lover, as you will not doubt discover if you speak with them, but I think they now appreciate that the Qun is the enemy that we have to unite against, so we can build a new life for ourselves in Arlathan.   I intend to ensure that whatever happens in the future, none of them is ever made slave again.   So I’m going to let you go and you are free to make your own choice, whether to join with us or flee to join your new masters.”

       Wilfyr frowned as he tried to process what he had been told.   It was clearly as difficult a concept to grasp that they were not going to kill him as it was that Cillian held the authority of a Magister.

       “So I can leave if I want to?”

       “Just walk out of that door and keep going.   Bear in mind, though, that if we encounter any more Qun and you are with them, next time we may not be as merciful.”

       “What if I choose to stay, what then?”

       “See how you can best make yourself useful.”

       Wilfyr appeared to reach a decision with himself as he visibly relaxed and took on a much more genial air.

       “Very well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and we’ll see how it goes.”

       Enavir couldn’t help but smile at the audacity of the fellow; a quick glance at Cillian and he could tell by the glint in his eyes that he was equally amused.  

       “So those Tevinter bastards really made you Magister?”

       “We believe they think that when this trouble with the Qunari is over they will be able to renege on the deal but we intend to disappoint them,” said Enavir.

       “I can probably help with that.   My former mistress was friends with the right people to advance herself, particularly the Black Divine and his cronies, so I can help identify the ones you have to really worry about.”

       “That could help Dorian too,” said Enavir.

       “Dorian?” Wilfyr looked at him with a lewd grin. “Dorian Pavus? Is he your lover? Don’t tell me you’re the elf he was scandalising society with down south.”

       “You’ve heard about me then?”

       “Who hasn’t?” Wilfyr stopped grinning and starred at him wide eyed. “Then you must be the Inquisitor.”

       “I was the Inquisitor; I relinquished the title some months ago.”

       “Voluntarily?”

       “Why do you ask?”

       “The word was that the southern nobles were even more upset in having an elf with such power than the Teviner mob were. Mind you they also found it highly amusing to see their discomfort; tempered always with the uncomfortable thought that it might happen to them next.”

       “Then it did,” said Cillian mildly.

       “Yes, it did, didn’t it?   I take it you thought forcing a non-mage on them was a step too far.”

       “I was happy to step aside,” said Enavir.   “It was clearly a more palatable solution for the Magisters and was expedient in view of the reaction I got from my own side when they saw me with Dorian.”

       “Hmm, I can imagine how that wouldn’t have gone down too well. Elves who have sex with Magisters willingly aren’t viewed in a favourable light. There’s been too much forced compliance down the years so it is seen as almost an insult to their suffering.” He seemed to notice the self conscious look on Enavir’s face and continued gleefully. “Not your lad, though. According to Livia he was fucking everyone _except_ the house slaves.”

       Enavir looked at the floor, unable to conceal the distress he was feeling, even though he suspected Wilfyr had said this with deliberate intent of causing it.   Wilfyr continued.

       “She was keeping a careful note of his conquests for future reference should she wish to blackmail any of them.   You do know my mistress was betrothed to him don’t you?”

       Enavir composed himself and looked Wilfyr in the eye. “I knew he was betrothed at birth and the idea didn’t really appeal.”

       “For obvious reasons,” he gave him a knowing smile. “She wasn’t that bothered really.   It left her free to pursue her own agenda.   If he had ever turned up to honour the arrangement, she would probably have gone through with it to get the family connection.   Then once he had done his duty in providing an heir, she’d have made sure he suffered an unfortunate accident.   It’s possible she might not even have waited that long.   There is no way she would have settled into a life of genteel domesticity; she had bigger plans. That’s why we were here.”

       “I thought she was in charge of the outpost.”

       “She was in charge all right, but not in the way you think.   There is no way she would have settled for an appointment in this out of the way place if she didn’t have an ulterior motive.   Friends in high places arranged it for her because they had a mutual interest in the matter.”

       “What exactly?”

       “She was looking for something, out there in the forest, something to do with our people.”

       “The ruins of Arlathan.”

       He nodded.   “She never said as much but I guessed that was the truth of the matter.”

       “How far did she get?”

       “She was close, I know that much, but then the Qunari turned up. She was off checking up on progress at the time, which is why I couldn’t be sure she was dead, so I sent them off after her. When I told them about it, they were curious to discover what she was looking for.   The rest took their prisoners to the coast; there aren’t many of them left so they shouldn’t trouble you unduly with your numbers.” He pointed to a map on the wall and a location deep in the forest. “When you’re ready to investigate, that’s where you’ll find them.”

       “That’s helpful, thank you.”

       “A show of good faith,” Wilfyr grinned.   “Now with your leave, I’ll go socialise.”

       “Keep a look out for a tall, fair-haired elf with strange looking silver tattoos,” advised Cillian.   “His name is Fenris and he despises Tevinter mages and magic as much as you; he’ll enjoy having someone to talk to who shares his point of view. He’ll confirm what we told you about the Qun.”

       After Wilfyr had left, they examined the map again.  

       “It seems we arrived just in time,” said Enavir.

       “Just as well we came with an army wasn’t it?”

       “Yes, the western route was a good call, not just from my personal perspective.”   He paused and rubbed his neck, feeling awkward.

       “Something troubling you?”

       “What he said about how the other elves view my relationship with Dorian.  Is that true, they think I don’t respect what others may have gone through?”

       “Some may, with others it is just general inability to understand how you could be attracted to him in the first place, together with wondering why you didn’t abandon the relationship when he left you behind, if there wasn’t anything in it for you. The way they see it, there were alternatives.”

       “Dorian seems to think so too.”

       “He wanted to end it?”

       “Not exactly; I suppose you eavesdroppers missed that part. He suggested I might be happier with an elf.   I was shocked he could even think that.   Then hearing Wilfyr saying those things about him, it makes me wonder how he copes without me.   I hate having these suspicions but they keep worming their way back in.   Surely I shouldn’t feel that way? I should trust him if I love him and I do love him.”

       “Enavir, you don’t have to convince me.   I know you love him and I’m sure he is equally devoted to you.   It was obvious Wilfyr wanted to hurt you. Don’t let malicious gossip spoil what you have together.   It is a rare and beautiful thing that you enjoy with him.”

       Enavir gave a deep sigh of acceptance of the situation and felt a wave of gratitude and affection for Cillian; he smiled at him.

       “Thank you.”

       “That’s what friends are for.”   Cillian stepped forward and embraced him.   “Now brother, let’s go celebrate with our people.”

       As they walked onto a balcony that overlooked the courtyard the dawn was just starting to light the sky.   The troops gathered there gave a roar of welcome as they appeared and Cillian gestured to the sky, raising his voice so that all could hear him.

       “Today is a new dawn for us all. Let us all work together for a better future.   This fortress was once used to watch the forest and as a base for the assault against our ancestors.   Now it will stand as the guardian that will be our first line of defence against any who would seek to deny us our freedom in the future.   They sank Arlathan into the ground and enslaved its people, thinking we would never rise again and break off the chains they placed upon us.   Let this place be known as Telanadas, because nothing is inevitable.   We are the last of the elvhen and never again we will submit.”

       A roar of approval greeted his words.   Enavir looked at him and was astonished at the transformation in his friend.   He looked majestic and awe inspiring; every inch the elf lord with his proud, defiant stance, his serene countenance and his silvery blond hair blowing in the wind.   At that moment he vowed that he would devote himself to ensuring the safety of the one who represented such hope them all; he would happily die defending him.   Cillian turned to him with a wistful look on his face.

       “Do you suppose it began like this in the Dales? After so long in captivity they were finally free and had such hope for the future.”

       “I’ve only seen Chantry accounts of the beginning and they speak of poor elves struggling there with nothing but the clothes on their backs.”

       “So do our own stories; yet what of the warriors who followed Shartan? Some must have survived to follow the barbarians back down south after his death.   It is they who would have founded Halamshiral and prepared a place for when the others came.”

       “Is that what we are doing?   Preparing a place for others to come?”

       “I hope so but it will all be for nothing if the Dread Wolf succeeds.   We must get things started here but we cannot delay long in entering the forest.”

       Once again they called their leaders to them in the map room in order to discuss their plan of action over the next few weeks.

       “Atisha, again we must prevail upon you to organise and administer the home base while Enavir and I are away.   The main keep is in good condition, apart from the gate, which will need repairing, but there isn’t enough room in it for everyone and we need to start giving thought to long term food production.”

       “I’ll see what I can do,” said Atisha.

       “Josmael can assist in setting up foraging expeditions in the near forest,” said Enavir.   “We won’t have a need for cavalry in the deep forest so you’ll also have to appoint herdsmen to watch over the herds as they roam the grasslands. Look after them well. Horse breeding could ultimately be a useful source of revenue but in any case increasing the number of mounted soldiers we have available to us will be of strategic value.   It wasn’t clearly stated where the border of our province ends, so until someone objects, we should make use of the grassland southwards between the forest and the mountains.”

       “Search for sources of iron bark as well,” continued Cillian. “We have craftsmen with us who can show the newcomers how to use it and that will be better than having to source materials from elsewhere.”

       Cillian called forward the military leaders and pointed to a section of coast in the north of the forest.

       “I think it is likely the Qunari made landfall here.   It is likely only a small cove and not able to cater for a large number of ships but sufficient that they could drop them off over a period of time.   Whatever the case, we need a strong force to check out the entire length of the coastline and make it secure.   Enansal, you can be in charge of that.   If you find any remaining forces or ships at anchor, you need to destroy them.   Fenris will brief you on how to put a big hole in their hulls, even something as large as a dreadnought but keep the knowledge to yourself; it’s something we don’t want our enemies learning or even our allies.”

       “You mean the Tevinter Magisters.” Enansal said with a smile.

       “I never said that, did I?” Cillian replied with a twinkle in his eye.

       “Anierin, you can take half your number and circle round to the south of the forest to spy out the rest of our border.   Once we know it is safe, we can start to let people settle across the region.   When not actually under attack, I think we should pursue the Dalish policy of not having too many people in one place.   It is up to individuals if they want to put down roots or just be nomads but having small settlements near the old watchtowers should help us keep in touch with one another.”

       “What about me?” said Fenris

       “The bulk of your forces and the remainder of Anierin’s are best left to guard Telanadas and help with various tasks around the place.   I assume that you will want to come with us into the interior.   We’ll take a small task force with us as well, made up of your troops. Select the ones you think will be best suited.”

       With that they set about making preparations for their departure.   Enavir was accosted by Lauren.  

       “I hear you’re planning on leaving at first light tomorrow.”

       “That’s right.”

       “What about me?”

       “You want to come? There’s no telling what we’ll find.”

       “I want to come.”

       “Fair enough, you had better look out the best possible weapons from my collection.   There are some really good daggers there.   You’ll find some excellent armour too.” He noticed she had gone very quiet and looked puzzled. “Something wrong?”

       “I thought you’d object and try and talk me out of it.”

       “What, and risk a tongue lashing?” he grinned. “You’re a free woman and are clearly very capable.   Besides who’s going to look after me? It was a real drag having to take care of myself on the way to Qarinus.”

       “Liar,” she declared but smiled with gratitude all the same.

       “We’ll be travelling light, so get yourself a couple of good pack horses too.”

       No sooner had Lauren hurried off to prepare herself than Wilfyr approached him.

       “I understand you’re not wasting any time in getting after them.”

       “There could be a lot at stake.”

       “Just what are you all hoping to find?”

       “The reason the ancient Magisters sank Arlathan.”

       “It stood in their way. Wasn’t that reason enough?”

       Enavir shook his head.

       “I’ve met ancient elves that have slept in Uthenera since the fall of the Empire and they agreed that happened long before the rise of Tevinter.   The ancient mage lords simply scavenged off the corpse, plundering ruins, and likely it was this that helped them rise to power.   I have seen glimpses of what the elves once were and the ancient ones are right; the human mages are but children compared with what the Evanuris could do.   Something doesn’t add up about Arlathan.   They spent six years besieging it; then simply destroyed it.   That makes no sense.   If it was besieged then the elves were inside when they sank it; yet they took numerous prisoners and boosted their slaves force with elven captives.     The ancient ruins we visited had only a small number of occupants but they were able to hold their own against superior forces and they did not look like us.  Dorian had been brought up on the myth of Tevinter supremacy in conquering the might of the elves; my people, the Dalish, had held a hatred for humans on account of that action; yet Abelas said it wasn’t true. If you study historical accounts carefully, you realise the Imperium was very reluctant to take action against the elves in the first place.   I think their rulers knew precisely what was within the forest and what they would be up against if they went to war.   They sank the city because they needed to end a conflict that was draining their resources and they had run out of ideas of how to accomplish this. Think about that for a minute.”

       Wilfyr did so and then declared.   “The Imperium couldn’t defeat them any other way.”

       “Exactly; the Imperium at the height of its power could not defeat an elven civilisation that was a shadow of what it once was.”

       Wilfyr whistled. “If only we knew what really happened.”

       “There has to be a record of that somewhere in Minrathous and the real history lies out there in the forest.”

       “May be that is why my mistress was sent to study it.   Looking for ancient treasures or something more?”

       “All I know is that Corypheus was obsessed with finding elven artefacts.   He had his people searching all over southern Thedas and the one he did recover had immense power.   However, he didn’t find it by accident; there is an ancient power that was controlling events from the shadows.   Things didn’t work out as he intended and he continued to manipulate events, even to the extent of aiming the Qunari back against Tevinter.   We suspect he was hoping to conduct a search of his own while everyone was pre-occupied fighting one another.”

       “Would this power have a name?”

       “Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf.”

       Wilfyr laughed.   “That old story, you don’t believe that nonsense, do you?”

       “I don’t just believe it; I know it.” He raised his left arm with its silver replacement. “He bit off my arm, figuratively speaking.   In fairness, he did save my life, although it was through his actions that I was at risk in the first place.   If we don’t stop him, he will destroy our world.   Whatever interest your mistress and her allies may have had in Arlathan, I wouldn’t be surprised if the idea was put into their heads by him.”

       “I don’t recall her having any dealings with an elf, ancient or otherwise.”

       “He’s a Dreamer and has great power over the Fade.   All he had to do was walk into their minds, plant the idea and leave without them ever knowing it came from him.”

       “Truly?” Wilfyr’s eyes went wide with astonished apprehension.

       Enavir nodded.   “That’s what we’re up against.”

       “You are challenging the might of an elven god?”

       “He maintains he isn’t one but essentially, yes, we are.”

       “Well good luck with that,” Wilfyr said with sarcasm.   “To be honest, I’d just settle for a bit of ancient elven magic that will keep the Tevinter off our backs.”

       “You never know, if we find anything, we might be able to do both.”

       “Now you’re talking,” Wilfyr looked enthusiastic.   “Not that I’m looking to go with you.   I’m not really the fighting type.”

       “No, you’re a survivor, looking after number one,” Enavir gave him a penetrating look.   “I don’t doubt your genuine hatred for Tevinter but I think the cause dearest to your heart is you.   Don’t worry, you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve had working for me like that.”

       “Working for you?” Wilfyr narrowed his eyes at him. “What about the other one?”

       “Cillian has to maintain an aura of respectability with the Magisters, so they won’t interfere while we build our power base here.   Believe me, it is a lot easier if you can gain ground by diplomacy as we have done, rather than waste the lives of your followers.   We also know from bitter experienced both from the Dales and more recently, how quickly the human nations will unite against us if they feel threatened.   Knowledge is power if our enterprise is to last and that is where I come in; finding out what is going on behind the scenes and occasionally resorting to underhanded methods to obtain it.   I’ve a hunch you might be rather useful in that respect too.”

       “Letting you know all the Magisters’ dirty little secrets. Oh yes, I’m just the one for that.”

       “Excellent, so we’ve an understanding then.   While we’re gone you can make a record of everything you know about our enemies.”

       “I don’t know, what I’ve got up here,” he tapped his head, “is my insurance against anyone harming me.”

       “What if one of them was to send assassins?   Dead you would be no threat at all but if there was a document somewhere, you could use it to negotiate with.   Still, it’s up to you; it was just an idea.   You can also let Atisha know if there is anything we need to do legally to strengthen our position here.”

       “That’s easy.   If you want these slaves to be legally free, Magister Cillian needs to swear it before a judge.   So you need a record of every individual name.”

       “Great, that should keep you busy then. Have a list ready for when we get back.”

       When the final selection of the troops they were taking with them had been made and their supplies were ready, the group went to bed early to prepare for an early start.   The following morning they were to set out for the heart of the forest and the site of the ancient city of Arlathan.

       Enavir’s last act of the day, as always, was to contact Dorian.   He felt a bit guilty having not done so sooner, as Dorian knew they had planned an assault the night before.   Dorian felt the same way.

       “About time, I’ve been out of my mind with worry.”

       “You could have called me.”

       “And distract you at a vital stage?”

       “Sorry, I know I should have called you as soon as we defeated the Qunari but there has been so much to do.”

       “So you have taken the fortress then?”

       “Yes, and we’re planning on leaving tomorrow for the site of the ruins.”

       “What’s the rush?   I know you’re worried about Solas but still.”

       “I’m more worried about your fiancée.”

       “What?”

       “Have you heard from her lately?”

       “Why should I?   We’ve hardly seen one another since we were children, except across a crowded room at some official function back when I was still a scion of House Pavus, and I didn’t want to get her hopes up by contacting her.”

       “Well she knows all about us.   What’s more she was here.”

       “In Arlathan Forest?”

       “Exactly.   Luckily her slave defected to the Qun and even more fortunately has now decided to co-operate with us.   That’s where I got my information.     She was at the outpost here with the blessing of the Black Divine, and the Archon for all I know.   May be that is why he was so willing to go along with our little plan.   To salvage their scheme for recovering elven artefacts or at least stop the Qun from getting them.”

       “Did the slave specifically mention the Archon?”

       “No, why do you ask?”

       “He’d hardly be likely to encourage you to go to Arlathan Forest if he did have some scheme underway of his own, regardless of the Qun.   However, if he feared someone else was plotting something, then he might.   What did he say about the Black Divine?”

       “Just that she knew the right people to help her rise in power, including the Black Divine, and friends in high places arranged her appointment to this outpost, so she could undertake research into the elven ruins.”

       “That doesn’t necessarily mean either the Black Divine or the Archon were behind it, simply that she knows how to play everyone.   Didn’t my parents choose me a wonderful partner?”

       “According to Wilfyr you could still have her if you wished, assuming she is still alive.”

       “I’ll pass on that one. Still, I could pay her mother a visit here in Carastes, just to see if she knows anything.”

       “Would she tell you if she did?   Best stay clear or it might arouse suspicion.   I take it you won’t raise any objections if we are forced to kill her, assuming the Qun haven’t done something worse.”

       “I’ll leave that to your better judgement.   Take care, Amatus.”

       “Safe journey, Ma Sa’lath.”


	19. Chapter 19

     The first part of their journey was easy enough.   Although the trees were widely spaced, the undergrowth was not particularly thick and they were able to walk through it easily.   The canopy of the trees also protected them from the effects of the sun beating down on them.   They hadn’t realised just how hot summers could become in this part of the world.   There had been cloud cover and cooling breezes blowing off the sea when they were near Qarinus but the wind had changed over the succeeding days, dropping to almost nothing now they were among the trees, so the temperature rose rapidly.        

     The southerners, mostly Dalish, felt the heat the most.   The liberati from the mining cities were tough and used to working in the heat; although Fenris had lived over thirteen years in and around Kirkwall, he too adapted back quickly to the temperatures he had known when serving Denarius.     Cillian found it expedient to use light robes while on the march; as they had elected to bring a couple of pack horses with them, he let them carry his armour.   Enavir found his Dalish scout armour was sufficiently lightweight that he could continue to wear it but opted for his broad brimmed hat rather than a helmet.

     They broke their march during the heat of the day, preferring to wait until the late afternoon to resume their trek.   When they did so, they quickly entered more challenging terrain with steeper gradients and thicker clumps of trees.   The type of vegetation was changing too.   It was noticeable that it seemed to resemble the foliage they encountered near the Temple of Mythal.   Enavir started to feel the excitement of expectation.   The lush plants seemed far more suited to this location than down south and he guessed that the latter had been deliberately planted there having been brought from the north.   Even if he hadn’t known in advance this was an ancient forest of the elves, the plants seemed to confirm as much.  

     “Look,” said Cillian. “Ironbark; stands and stands of it.”

     He was right; Enavir had never seen so many ironbark trees in one place, although he had heard there were groves like this in the Brecilian Forest, another ancient site that had allegedly been planted by elves. Enavir glanced around and saw that the faces of his fellow Dalish were as enraptured as his own; there was a definite sense of coming home.

     As evening progressed they came across an isolated settlement of a half dozen wooden houses plus a small stockade, seemingly abandoned.   There seemed no signs of a struggle but there were indications that the dwellings had been left in some haste as at least one still had the remains of a meal on the table.   The food was mouldy, so the occupants had fled some days before and not just at the sight of their party.   They guessed the Qunari must have passed this way but not bothered to inspect the houses, which suggested they had been in some haste.

     The settlement seemed as good a place as any to stop for the night.   The clearing around the compound made it more defensible than camping out in the open forest and they were able to make use of the cooking stoves and food stores. When they set out the following morning, Enavir left a small pouch of coins with a note thanking the owners.

     It was now possible to pick up the trail of those who had gone before them.   Enavir and the other scouts agreed that it had probably been only a smallish scouting party of around fifty qunari, which confirmed the information that Wilfyr had given them.   Whilst this would make them evenly matched as far as numbers were concerned, it still paid to be cautious and they slowed their speed to allow the scouts to check out the land in front of them to avoid any hidden surprises. However, by evening they still had not caught up with the raiding party or seen any other signs of intruder in the area.

     The following morning they discovered the first definite sign they were nearing their destination; old ruins which although worn down with age, still had some trace of elven designs upon them.   This seemed in keeping with the layout that Enavir had encountered in the Arbor Wilds, with outer structures leading towards the centre of the enclave.   There was still no sign of life though and the further they advanced the more they left the sounds of the forest behind them.   An unnerving silence permeated the ruins.   Finally their scouts spotted bodies in the undergrowth and returned with disturbing accounts of what they had discovered on inspecting them.

     “They didn’t die of natural causes if you know what I mean,” said one.   “It looked like the work of a demon to me.”

     “Qunari,” confirmed another, “at least what was left of them.”

     They proceeded with greater caution and found more bodies.  

     “We should burn them,” said Cillian.   “Whatever is up ahead, we don’t want possessed corpses at our backs.”

     They found a suitable clearing and gathered all the bodies they could find; at least thirty in all but may be more since it was difficult to tell with some having been ripped apart.

     “That seems to account for a greater part of the Qunari party,” said Enavir, “but not all.   They must have succeeded in defeating whatever was sent against them and it returned to the Fade.”

     “Here’s hoping, anyway,” said Cillian.

     “There was no mention of saarebas with this party,” said Fenris. “So the Qun weren’t responsible for this summoning.”

     Leaving a small group to supervise the burning, they continued onwards.   The ground started to drop away and they were looking down into a bowl shaped valley.   At the bottom the ground had been cleared of vegetation and there were various constructions including a block and pulley.   There were also more bodies, this time human soldiers, presumably part of the supervising team, plus some qunari.   Clearly a battle had been fought at the entrance to the diggings.   The bodies had been there for some time as they had already started to decompose and a stench of death hung over the area.   Once again it seemed expedient to burn them before attempting anything further. Upon closer inspection it seemed as though the soldiers had been left on guard at the entrance but the rest of the party was within.

     Enavir suggested they set up their own base camp above the valley, which would allow better observation of the area generally.   Whilst it seemed unlikely they would be disturbed by fresh intruders, they couldn’t be sure of that, so half their number was left in the camp and they proceeded onwards into the dig itself.

     The initial excavation had been simply been through earth and rock.   At each stage the level had been shored up with timbers and the passage ran down in a spiral, with sufficient light illuminating them from above.   It was clear at some point they had hit solid stone and then succeeded in uncovering a doorway at an angle to the path, suggesting that whatever lay beyond had not been built that way but had suffered some sort of damage.  

     “The sunken city of Arlathan?” Enavir raised his eyebrows at Cillian.

     “Sunken something.” Cillian peered into the gloom. “We’re going to need torches from here on.”

     They proceed within the chamber.   Clearly it had suffered structural damage and parts had collapsed under the weight of rock and earth but there was a clear way forward on the far side.

     “How long were they working here do you think?” said Enavir.

     “Months, possibly years,” Cillian suggested.   “They’d have had to negotiate their way through a substantial amount of rock and debris.   I don’t think this would have been purely speculative; they must have had a fair idea of what they might find to make it worth the effort.”

     The initial chambers seemed very austere, with none of the ornamentation or decoration that Enavir associated with elven ruins.   These must have been antechambers.   Of course it was possible that any artefacts had already been removed and sent back to Minrathous or wherever else their base lay.   It seemed unlikely, though, that anything significant had been recovered from these levels.  

     They continued forwards with caution but whoever had gone before them must be some way off for there was no sign of life or sound of activity.   Enavir’s boot kicked against an object and sent it rolling ahead of him.   Holding up a torch revealed a skull.   Closer inspection suggested this was of ancient origin; someone who had died when the building collapsed.   He showed it to Fenris and Cillian.   The latter frowned as he examined it.

     “This isn’t elven.   The jaw bone is too strong.”

     Enavir looked at it again and then held his torch aloft, sending its light around the chamber.   More skeletons were revealed, half buried in debris.   The skulls were of the same type; human not elven.

     “These ruins were buried when some of our enemies were still in them.   Why would they bury their own people?”

     “Something caused them to panic?” suggested Fenris.

     “Our legends do say how the elves retreated, leaving their enemies to walk the halls unimpeded,” said Cillian.   “What if something attacked them?”

     “A Varterral?” said Fenris.

     “Or several,” said Cillian.

     They continued forward into the depths.   For several hundred feet it seemed much the same as before; there were a succession of half collapsed chambers and ruined doorways but nothing significant to suggest either a settlement of importance or an elven presence.   Then the ground dropped away suddenly to reveal a large hole in which a lift had been constructed. Clearly the excavators had broken through the floor into a much larger chamber.   They operated the mechanism to bring the platform to their level.   It was large enough to take ten people at a time.   Their first group climbed in and started to lower themselves into the depths.  

     As they cleared what was the ceiling to the chamber, the light from the torches revealed an astounding sight.   In front of their eyes was an enormous wall decorated in gold and gems.   It sparkled and glittered as the light reflected off the materials it was made from.   At first it seemed merely an intricate pattern but when they reached the floor of the chamber and stepped back from the lift, they realised it was really a gigantic mural.   It clearly illustrated a time from when their ancestors occupied this place and as they viewed it, their jaws collectively dropped open in wonder.

     “Are those elves?” said Fenris.

     “Ancient ones; like I met in the Temple of Mythal,” said Enavir.

     “There are dragons,” said Cillian, “and dwarves.”

     “Look,” Fenris pointed. “Aren’t those griffons?”

     The other elves who had accompanied them seemed equally bemused.

     “This is amazing,” said Enavir. “It seems untouched by the devastation above.”

     All three exchanged glances, realising the oddity of this. Then Enavir had a flash of inspiration.

     “This wasn’t sunk; it was always here.   The main city was underground.”

     “Which means?” said Fenris

     “The bit up above wasn’t important.   It was just an outer area, probably where they took exercise and relaxed when on the surface. May be fortifications as well.”

     Cillian laughed.   “The ancient Tevinter had no idea. They thought they had destroyed the main city.”

     “May be it wasn’t them,” suggested Enavir.   “May be the elves collapsed it themselves.”

     “To keep the humans from discovering what lay below?”

     “That would certainly explain why there were human corpses among the ruins.”

     “And the fleeing elves were intended to fool them into thinking they were retreating, abandoning their city.”

     “That was a lot of elves that were sacrificed to provide the deception,” said Fenris. “It is claimed the mass enslavement allowed the expansion of the Imperium.”

     Enavir’s mood became sombre.   “Slaves ordered to do so or may be encouraged to think they were being given their freedom.   Not ancient ones, awakened from uthenera by the intruders and taking action to protect themselves; elves like us, who had been born since the raising of the Veil.   Likely they had been kept here specifically to tend to their masters’ needs since ancient times, living and dying simply to serve and then abandoned to their fate. That is what the city above was for; housing them.”

     “Yet remembering the lore they had been taught by the ancient ones and remaining loyal to it,” reflected Cillian.   “When we remember what it is to be true elves our gods will return to us.   Encouraged to fear the presence of humans and told that they were responsible for the quickening that allowed us to die, kept only to ensure the continued survival of the ancient ones until the time that the gods were restored, sacrificed so that the humans would not find this place.”

     There was a brief moment of silence over their group as they reflected on what they had just surmised; then the creak of the lift returning with the second half of their party stirred them back to action.     Enavir walked along the base of the wall, torch held aloft studying the images, trying to remember what he had read at the Temple of Mythal.

     “I think this is illustrating the raising of Ghilan’nain to godhood.” He gestured at the figures in front of him and beckoned the others over. “Some of the creatures here I can’t put a name to but Andruil was said to have offered her a place with the gods if she disposed of the majority of her creations.   They were said to be troublesome and Andruil had apparently grown bored with hunting them.   Look in the next image one of the figures is giving over a griffon to the other.   Ghilan’nain made Andruil a gift of her creatures of the air. The griffons are clearly a hybrid creature, so that would fit. Then the first figure is shown walking away surrounded by halla, the only creatures she was permitted to keep.”

     “So this place could be dedicated to Ghilan’nain,” suggested Cillian.

     “I don’t see any altar but may be it is just a general wall.   We’ve come in through the ceiling so who can tell where this lay within the complex.   It does remind me of the outer rooms in the Temple of Mythal.” He looked across to where a gate stood open. “I assume that is the way the Magister went.   It’s odd there is no one about and no guardians either.   Do you suppose she killed them all?”

     “Could be,” said Cillian.   “Didn’t you have to undertake certain rituals before entering Mythal’s Temple?   If they came in here through the roof they probably missed them.”

     “That’s true.” He looked across to where the rest of the party had assembled. “We should still proceed carefully.   There is no telling what lies ahead.   We might even find varterral in this place.”

       Lauren had come down with the second group.   As she approached Enavir, she was looking around in wonderment.

       “Wow, I’ve never seen anything like this.   Who are the elves in the picture?”

       “At a guess we think they are Andruil and Ghilan’nain.”

       “Are they meant to be female?” Lauren made a face. “Elves are meant to be beautiful; you are but they aren’t.   Their faces look odd and why are they shown as bald?”

       “I think the pictures are stylised but all the ancient elves I met were bald, male and female. I don’t know why that is.”

       “Alternatively you might ask how come we’ve got hair?” suggested Cillian. “They are meant to be our ancestors after all.”

       “May be you can’t be immortal and have hair,” said Enavir flippantly.

       They proceeded into the next chamber to be met by more murals of the same design as before but showing more disturbing images.

       “That’s one of the goddesses from the previous room.   Why does she appear to be hunting people?” Lauren sounded shocked.

       “Not elves,” said Enavir ruefully, “humans.   See they look more normal in appearance, including having rounded ears.”

       “Why?” said Lauren.

       “Because that’s what hunters do.   That goddess must be Andruil.   This must be a place dedicated to her, or Ghilan’nain.   It was Andruil’s idea to make Ghilan’nain a goddess.”

       “Their actions were hardly likely to endear the elves to the early humans,” said Cillian.   “If they passed down stories of this to their children, maybe we shouldn’t be surprised that they enslaved us in their turn.”

       “We were already slaves, remember?” Fenris said bitterly. “Forced to serve these elven Magisters and then continued to suffer from their actions even after they were gone. The Dread Wolf was right to imprison them.”

       They continued on in sombre mood. The next room contained a mural that depicted another story he remembered from the Temple of Mythal.   The first in the series showed Andruil hunting in a place of darkness and shadows, the second showed a mountain with a great serpent at its foot and the last a battle between Andruil and the serpent.”

       “That’s when Andruil hunted the Forgotten Ones in the Void.   It sent her mad and Mythal was forced to intervene and steal her memories so she could not return there.”

       “I’d like to think that it was the Void that caused her corruption,” said Cillian, “but it is clear from the order of these pictures that she was already a killer before then.”

       “She certainly had a compulsion to hunt.   It is as though that defined her; was her identity, so that she could do little else.”

       “Like a demon,” said Fenris.  

       “I thought demons reflected what they see in our world,” said Lauren.

       “Some maybe,” said Cillian. “The simple ones but not the greater demons; they are defined by their own compulsions.   You don’t want to go by what the Chantry teaches; the nature of spirits is so much more complex than that.”

       “And dangerous,” added Fenris.

       “Speaking of which,” said Enavir, “where do you suppose the Magister and her servants are?   There seems no sign of them, apart from the lift, which was obviously constructed by them.   You’d think they would have left someone on guard.”

       “She did,” said Fenris.   “Those soldiers we found up above.   The platform had been lowered though.   That suggests that after the battle with the Qunari there were survivors who came down to report on what had occurred.”

       “Alternatively, it was the Qunari who survived and wanted to find what the soldiers were trying to protect,” suggested Cillian.

       “Either way we had better proceed with caution but I’m guessing that we’ll have to go much further in before we find anyone,” said Enavir.

       He spotted a strange looking sconce on the wall.

       “That will be useful.   I think that is a veil fire lantern.   It needs magic to activate it, if you would be so kind, Cillian.”

       Cillian obliged and they dowsed the flames on their torches, replacing them with magical fire that would not extinguish or require fuel as they descended into the depths. Every time they spied another sconce, Cillian activated it to fill the area around them with light.   Enavir laughed.

       “That’s one thing the Magister didn’t discover.   I dare say she was too accustomed to getting servants to do the work and didn’t realise magic was needed when they failed to activate them.”

       They proceeded into the next chamber and were astonished by the image that confronted them.   The elven goddess stood before a huge dragon with her hand outstretched and it was clear some sort of connection was being implied between them by the depiction of tendrils of blue mist.

       “What is she doing?” said Fenris.  

       Enavir frowned as he remembered a conversation he had had with Morrigan concerning Corypheus and made a connection with the later words of Fen’Harel.

       “I think she is sending a piece of her spirit into the dragon.   It gives her a connection with it, not just to control it but share her life with it.   Corypheus did the same with his dragon and killing it was what enabled me to destroy him.”

       “Can people divide their spirits?” said Cillian.

       “Flemeth did,” said Fenris.   “She placed a piece of herself in an amulet as an insurance against her daughter trying to kill her.   Taking it to the altar of Mythal on Sundermount was her price for helping Hawke escape the Blight.”

       “And Flemeth was also Mythal,” said Enavir.   “It was likely the elven goddess who gave her the knowledge how to do that.   That’s what Solas meant when he said he never imagined an ancient Magister would have discovered the secret of effective immortality.   I thought he was just speaking generally but that was the whole point; dividing the soul was his insurance against death.   It’s why the soul doesn’t just depart to the Fade when you kill them because it is incomplete, so it transfers to the nearest similar being or back to the original one.”

       “That would mean he had already done that before he was imprisoned,” said Fenris.   “He did that soul jump thing to the nearest Grey Warden after we struck him down.”

       “The arch demons do the same apparently,” said Enavir.   “That is why a warden has to kill them, because otherwise they keep jumping to the nearest darkspawn and then reincarnating.   If a warden kills them it jumps to them as the nearest tainted creature and kills them both.”

       “So that has nothing to do with the Blight?”

       “Not directly it would seem. The soul jump ability is something independent of it but the link between an arch demon and the darkspawn is the taint.”

       “Interesting,” said Cillian.   “So that would account for why Fen’Harel knew he couldn’t kill the Evanuris outright.   The ability to live forever was imparted on elves by their connection to the Fade but we could still be killed.   Then the Evanuris discovered a way to evade death.”

       “That could prove important if he should end up releasing them,” agreed Enavir.

       “It is also something that shouldn’t be universally known,” said Fenris.   “I imagine that there are plenty of Magisters who would like the secret of effective immortality.”

       “Do you suppose that is why she is here?” said Enavir.   “Looking for the means to do what Corypheus did?”

       They exchanged rueful glances and continued on to the end of the chamber.   A stairway led downwards into the dark.  

       “I wonder if these ruins are sealed,” said Enavir.   “If not, then the deeper we go, the more likely we are to encounter darkspawn.”

       “Well that’s a jolly thought,” said Cillian.

       Enavir glanced at Lauren.  

       “Perhaps it would be better if you went back to the surface.”

       “Why?   I’m not afraid,” she responded fiercely.

       “It’s not that I’m worried about.   Darkspawn are particularly attracted to females.   Whatever happens, if this mission goes pear shaped, don’t let them take you alive.”

       “Oh, I see.   Don’t worry, you can count on that. I’m still coming with you though.”

       Enavir doubted she really realised how horrific her fate would be if captured but if anticipation of rape was sufficient incentive to kill herself, then he wasn’t going to give her worse nightmares by telling her about brood mothers.

       Down into the depths they went. The structures were at least large enough that they didn’t feel claustrophobic and Enavir was reminded of the Deep Roads and the ancient thaigs of the dwarves.   He thought about his adventures with the Titan and wondered if there was a greater connection between the ancient dwarven empire and the elves than they had realised.   Surely the use of magic would explain how such tremendous architecture came into being but dwarves had never had magic themselves.   Then again, it had been clear that much had been lost or erased from the memories. May be the Shapers had thought it expedient to conceal their ancestors’ relationship with the Evanuris.   The dwarves of Kal-Sharok had certainly wanted to conceal the assistance that the dwarves of Cad'halash had given to the elves fleeing this settlement.   It had been assumed this was so that it did not damage their relationship with the Tevinter Imperium, but given how dependent the Magisters were on lyrium, that hardly seemed likely.   Could it be that the dwarven leaders feared what the alliance might do against them and their allies?     Tevinter had seemed very reluctant to invade Arlathan Forest in the first place.   What was it about the elves of this place that people were so afraid of?

       “I don’t think they are sealed,” he said suddenly.   “The elves fled from here to Cad'halash.   I don’t think those were the ones on the surface; they were captured.   It was the ones down here and they escaped through the Deep Roads.   We need to be very careful we don’t get cut off.”

       On reaching the next level down they were confronted by an enormous space, likely some sort of assembly hall.   The light of their veil fire barely penetrated the darkness but he could sense the size and the echo of the footfalls were magnified disturbingly.   He called a halt and peered into the gloom, listening intently.   Still nothing greeted them but silence.

       “I don’t like it,” he whispered.   “If the Magister was down here, there should be some sign by now. We’re getting deep, at least the level of the Deep Roads, may be more.”

       “Shall we go back?” suggested Cillian.   “We’ve seen nothing to suggest anything of use is still here.   The elves that once lived here are clearly long since fled and probably took anything of value with them.”

       “Let’s check this chamber first, just to be sure.”

       He walked forward and barely ten feet into the chamber, the ground started to move under his feet.

       “Back, quickly!” He yelled, dropping the veil fire torch and sprinting back to the entrance.  

       The party reached the stairs just in time as the floor of the room beyond fell into the depths with deafening roar that made the stairs beneath their feet shake so violently it brought them to their knees and a plume of dust smothered them.   When the noise and dust subsided, they got back to their feet, coughing and shaking.   No one pretended they hadn’t felt the fear of being swept away or the relief at finding they were safe, at least for the present.   Gingerly, Enavir returned to the edge of the room and gestured for one of the men to hand him a torch.   He held it out into the darkness once more to reveal the floor had indeed collapsed and dropped away into the chasm below.

       “Well that seems to put an end to that,” he said, his voice still a little shaky at their narrow escape.

       “Hello, is someone there?” A woman’s voice called from the darkness.

       The companions exchanged surprised glances.   Could someone still be alive down here?  

       “Who is it?” called Enavir.

       “I am the Lady Livia Herathinos. Who are you?”

       “A rescue party,” Enavir winked at his companions.   “We came to find out what happened to you.”

       “I was trapped by a rock fall.   The cave in nearly buried me but it has also opened up the roof to my prison.   I trust you have some means of getting down to me.”

       “How many of you are there?”

       “Just me; I was beginning to think I was doomed.”

       Enavir exchanged suspicious glances with Cillian and Fenris.

       “That’s odd that she’s the only survivor.”

       “Leave her,” said Fenris.   “I’d bet anything you like she’s alive at the expense of her slaves.”

       “Even so, I’ll not risk leaving her down here to be found by darkspawn. We’ll get her out and then you can pass judgement if you wish.”

       “Luckily I had the presence of mind to bring rope with us,” said Lauren.

       “Okay then, you let me down to her,” said Enavir.

       “Alone?” said Fenris. “I don’t think so.   We’ll go together.”

       Luckily there was enough rope to comply with his demand.   Carefully they launched themselves over the edge of the hole and gently lowered themselves down, pushing away from the rocks with their feet as they went, a torch gripped in Enavir’s silver hand lighting their way. After around twenty feet he began to feel a strange sense of unease and the illuminated rock face showed odd looking growths. When they bumped against outcrops of rock, they simply crumbled away like rotten wood, which at least explained the cave in.   Enavir started to hear a humming in his ears and his good hand seemed to be losing its sense of feeling.   A glance across at Fenris showed that his companion was equally discomforted and he was starting to glow.   As his attention returned to the task of lowering himself to the floor, he saw something disconcertingly familiar in the rock face in front of him; veins of red lyrium.   The knotting sensation he got in his stomach at this discovery wasn’t just an emotional reaction but a physical one too.   They needed to complete the rescue and get out of there as quickly as possible.

       On reaching the floor, the sense of pervading evil was almost overwhelming. Fenris seemed to be bearing it better than he was but his tattoos now gleamed brightly; he was clearly anticipating danger.   At first there seemed no sign of Livia.   Enavir held up the torch and called out.

       “Where are you?”

       “I retreated lest you brought more rock tumbling down.”

       She moved into the light and it was clear there was something not quite right with her.   Her skin had a waxy, blotchy look; her hair was lank and had come away in patches; her eyes had a crimson hue.

       “What happened to your party?” Enavir tried not to stare too obviously at her appearance.

       “Mostly buried.   Those damned oxmen caused it.   They came after us and I had to use magic to stop them.   How did you know I was here?”

       “Wilfyr told us after we retook the fort.   The Qunari have launched an attack on the mainland.”

       “I guessed as much when I saw them.   We’ll defeat them this time, though.   I’ve found the way.”

       “Is that so? Care to enlighten us?”

       “Tell my secret to slaves; I’ll have you whipped for such presumption. Who is your commanding officer?”

       “No one,” responded Enavir.   “However, I am here with the knowledge of your former fiancée, Dorian Pavus.”

       “Former fiancée?   Is that how he views it now?   I might have guessed. He always did like slumming it with elves, when he wasn’t humping that vulgati Rilenius.   I thought he had become more discrete of late but clearly not. You’re a pretty one and no mistake.   Are you one of his whores from Minrathous or another dirty little secret that he barely bothers to conceal?”

       Enavir was temporarily bereft of his voice as her words sent a feeling of anguish and repulsion through him and his guts knotted. Livia turned her attention to Fenris.

       “And what of you, silent one?   Such pretty markings. Whom do you serve?”

       “No one,” said Fenris, leaping forward and plunging his hand through her body. “I’m not a slave.”

       She gave a blood curdling shriek and collapsed on the ground.

       “Looks like we’re done here,” said Fenris coldly.

       They both moved back towards the side of the cavern

       “Not so fast, my pretty,” Livia’s voice was oddly changed to a deeper timbre.

       “Demon!” said Fenris, his eyes going wide.

       Whirling back they saw her rise up again from the ground, her eyes now glowing red.   They would not be able to get away quickly enough if they tried to climb, so Enavir unhooked the rope to give himself greater manoeuvrability and he saw Fenris doing the same.   An unspoken agreement passed between them to move in opposite directions across the chamber but the demon seemed in no hurry to close with either of them.   It glided up from the ground to float a short way above their head height, an enigmatic smile on its face.

       “Did you really think it would be so easy to kill a god?”

       “You’re no god,” spat Fenris.   “Just a cursed blood mage who did one too many pacts with a demon.”

       Her face gave a maniacal smile. “Oh no, insolent one, the stuff of godhood lies here.”

       Enavir guessed she meant red lyrium. “The curse of the Void rather.”

       “Only to those who would refuse the gift of such power.   You were asking after my party. Perhaps you’d like to meet them.”

       “Shit,” said Fenris forcefully as figures started to emerge from the darkness.

       He drew his broad sword and started to speed towards the nearest one.   Enavir would have preferred his bow but there wasn’t time enough to equip it and in any case he needed the light from the torch.   He drew Glandivalis and hoped he would be adept enough with it.

       As the first of the elf corpses reached him, he thrust at it with the sword and then drove the torch at its face.   To his surprise the magical flame caught on its hair and started to consume it.   He allowed himself a glimmer of hope and started towards the next one.

       “Oh that was a clever move,” said the demon approvingly. “I’m glad you’re going to put up a decent fight.   The god of slaves would be so pleased you are honouring her in this way, here in her ancient prison.”

       “Andoral?” Enavir couldn’t help wondering aloud as he struck down another assailant.

       “The very same; can’t you feel the presence of the arch demon?”

       That would account for the peculiar vibes of the place.   He remembered a diary entry from one of the Legion of the Dead recounting a similar discovery deep under Ferelden.   It was a distraction he didn’t really need at that moment, so he supressed his curiosity and concentrated on the job at hand.    

       Fenris was whirling through his enemies like a tornado and limbs were flying off in all directions, while Enavir was ploughing a steady furrow with his combination of sword and torch.   It seemed like they might just pull it off when he saw a greater shadow fall across him and the corpse of a Qunari lumbered into view.   Enavir felt a wave of despair; there were just too many enemies. Then an arc of lightning jumped across the battlefield. He looked up to see Cillian sliding down one of the ropes.   The demon shrieked its anger and turned to meet him but Cillian quickly followed up with a Fade Fist that sent it crashing to the ground at Enavir’s feet.

       “Now,” yelled Cillian. “Strike it.”

       Enavir drove in with Glandivalis, impaling the body before lighting it with the veil fire.   There was a shriek and the demon tried to pull away but Enavir dropped the torch and hung on to it with his metal hand to keep it both impaled on the sword and burning.   The flames licked his lower left arm and for the first time Enavir was actually grateful to Fen’Harel for having removed his real one, although the heat was working up the metal to his own flesh.   Luckily, before it became unbearable the corpse crumbled into ash.  

       Simultaneously the other corpses also collapsed, the control over them having been removed.   Cillian immediately directed his staff towards them and set them aflame.   Fenris doubled over, leaning on his sword while he recovered from his exertions.   Enavir sheathed Glandivalis and shut his eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm himself; he had never felt so close to death.

       “Let’s get out of here,” said Cillian.   “The sooner we get away from this place, the better.”

       “Agreed,” said Fenris. “Go ahead; I don’t mind being last out.”

       Even though they felt close to exhaustion, they didn’t stop until they were back safe on the surface once more.

       “I’m sorry I risked your lives on a wild goose chase,” said Enavir.

       “We all agreed it was worth exploring,” said Cillian and we may have found some useful information if nothing else.

       “What shall we do about the entrance?” asked Fenris.

       “Do you bring any explosive with you?”

       “A little; I left it with the soldiers on the rim.”

       “Then get it.   There is nothing to be gained from keeping it open.   What was buried should have remained that way.”

       “You don’t think we should leave it open for people to see the relics of our ancestors?” Cillian queried.

       “They are nothing to us,” said Enavir with feeling. “They kept slaves and lived underground in halls of opulent splendour.   We don’t even look like them.   They are elvhen and we are not.   There is nothing to inspire our people here and there is danger in the depths. Let it be sealed away and forgotten.   We should ward off the area as well.”

       “These ruins may still have their uses,” objected Cillian. “We should seal the lower level to prevent any possible incursions by darkspawn but the top shouldn’t be sealed entirely.”

       Enavir glared at him and then sighed in resignation, before saying testily. “Have it your own way.   You are the Magister when all is said and done.”

******

       “Your betrothed is dead,” Enavir announced bluntly when he next contacted Dorian.

       “You really didn’t have to do that for me; no one seriously expected me to go through with it,” Dorian said in light hearted manner.

       “It’s not funny,” Enavir chided him.

       “It rarely is,” Dorian sighed.   “So what happened?”

       “Well some of it is conjecture, since unfortunately we didn’t get the full story from her, but I think events went something like this.   Livia was sent to oversee a project that involved excavating the old elven ruins here, under the pretext of governing the fortress. This may have been speculative, looking for powerful elven artefacts, or intentionally searching for sources of red lyrium.  Whom she was working for is something we didn’t find out and for all we know she could have been working to her own agenda as well.”

       “Most likely I’d say.”

       “Whatever the case, she was far more interested in overseeing the diggings than she was about ensuring the patrols were properly maintained, which allowed the Qunari pretty much free rein in the rest of the forest.   Around a month ago she got word that her slaves had broken through into the lower chambers and were constructing a lift to the floor below.   I assume there were probably dwarves involved in the project.   Anyway, not wishing anyone else to get first run on anything that might be in the lower levels, she hurried off to the site, leaving the fortress to be taken by the Qunari.   They were principally focussed on taking Qarinus but did send a small detachment to find out what she was doing, in case it should threaten them.   By the time they arrived at the diggings, she was already underground but I suspect she left an apprentice on the surface to monitor things for her with some of her soldiers and it was his group that initially had to deal with the Qunari.”

       “That makes sense.   Most Magisters have apprentices and the really trusted ones are used to assist them on whatever latest scheme they have going.”

       “Like you and Alexius.”

       “Well, our relationship was probably more trusting than most but essentially that is the way it works.   We may not generally trust other Altus further than we can spit them but it is infinitely better having one of them as a deputy than a Laetans or Soporati.   They really would stab you in the back to advance themselves.”

       “Cynic; I’m sure there are just as many trustworthy lower classes as they are Altus.”

       “Which isn’t saying much but I do love your optimism.”

       “Anyway, it would seem things got a bit out of hand on the surface and the apprentice either summoned a demon or simply got possessed and that got the Qunari really stirred up, so the survivors continued on in search of the Magister, rather than simply wait for her to return to the surface.   Meanwhile, Livia had drawn a blank on the initial levels but no doubt realised that the main city had remained pretty much untouched by the war above, so continued to pursue her plan in the hope of finding something useful.”

       “Wait a second; you say the city was untouched?”

       “The elves tricked you.   The surface city was nothing important and mostly where the lesser elves, people like me in other words, had their dwellings. They served their masters below.   When the Tevinter started their final attack, intent on taking or destroying the city, the servants were ordered to flee to create a distraction.   The elvhen then waited until their enemies were in the upper city before collapsing it themselves.  

       “To my ancestors, the servants, it probably appeared as though it was the magic of the Tevinter that did this.   To your ancestors it may well have appeared that their magical firepower had resulted in the destruction but the reality was that it was all a feint. At least that is how it looked to us.”

       “Another nail in the coffin of the glory of Tevinter,” Dorian sounded as though he couldn’t make up his mind whether to laugh or cry about this.

       “I thought you regretted what your ancestors did to the ancient elves.   Don’t you feel better now you know it wasn’t true?   As for my ancestors, it seemed they just went from one set of masters to another.   It would also explain how Corypheus and other ancients knew that our vallaslin were simply slave markings, to identify who we belonged to. Ironically the reason they probably forbade their use is that so far as they were concerned we now belonged to them.”

       “So you’re convinced that your ancestors did keep slaves?”

       “Not my ancestors; mine _were_ the slaves. Servants or slaves, take your pick.   They may not have bought and sold them but essentially they were required to serve whosever’s markings they bore.   If they tried running away, then Andruil’s followers were probably the ones who hunted them down; the original slave hunters.”

       “Are you okay talking about this?   You sound very bitter.   What did you find down there?”

       “More reasons to be glad I am not an elvhen but simply an elf.   Andruil hunted your ancestors too. We saw it depicted on a mural.   That story in the Temple of Mythal about Andruil was correct and in a way Morrigan was too; I dare say there are Dalish who are a little too faithful to her memory.”

       “I’m sorry; I know this can’t be easy for you to have to admit these things.”

       “It’s the truth isn’t it? That’s what we both want known, so our respective people can put the past behind them and begin anew, instead of nostalgically trying to restore something that isn’t worth restoring.   If anything you could say your people are less culpable than mine since they merely followed their example, like children mimicking their elders.”

       “Now don’t get carried away, Amatus, I wouldn’t want to absolve my ancestors of all responsibility.”

       “Don’t worry, I won’t.   People do need to take responsibility for their own actions, instead of simply blaming it on others.”

       “Fair enough.”

      There was a short pause. “That’s not all I found out?”

       He could feel his heart thumping and he was starting to shake in trepidation at revealing his doubts about his lover and having to admit he had allowed himself to believe Livia’s words.   However, he could not let the matter go. It had been whirling over and over in his mind ever since her declaration.

       “Why did you say you would understand if I had taken someone else as a lover?”

       “What?” Dorian sounded truly puzzled. “Where did that come from?”

       “Answer me?” Enavir became more aggitated.

       “Amatus, what are you getting at?”

       “Is that why you haven’t missed me as much as I have you?   Is that why you are heading back to Minrathous now instead of staying with me?”

       “There are things I had to do, you know that?”

       “In between slumming it with elves?”

       “Amatus, what’s wrong with you? There’s no need for you to be jealous.”

       “So it’s true!”

       “I didn’t say that.”

       “Then what is so important in Minrathous?   Why can’t I go with you? Or am I just your dirty little secret?”

       “Amatus, you need to calm down. This isn’t helping.”

       “Why won’t you answer me?”

       He was shrieking at the crystal now.     More thoughts were spiralling through his mind now.   He recalled a conversation between Cole and Dorian, a name that had been mentioned.   Someone Dorian’s thoughts had still been focussed on.   When he had asked before, Dorian had just deflected his concern with a light hearted denial it was anything to worry about.   Now his jealousy came rushing back and convinced him he knew more than he did.

       “Who _was_ Rilenius?   Why were you thinking of him?”

       “Kaffas, not this again!”

       “You said you had never had a relationship, that you never hoped for anything more. You said _I_ was the one who had changed your outlook and yet you were thinking of him.   Why?”

       “It is in the past.   It doesn’t matter.” Realisation seemed to hit him. “It was her wasn’t it, that caused this? What did Livia say to you?”

       “Is _he_ in Minrathous?” Enavir was finding it hard not to scream the question.

       “Possibly,” Dorian was calmly casual in his response and to Enavir he sounded deliberately evasive.   “It’s hard to know where anyone is at present.”

       “So you still see him?”

       “Not like that.   He’s a Lucerni.”

       “Ahh!” he gave a tortured cry, ripping off the crystal and throwing it into the bushes.  

       He could still hear Dorian’s voice distantly objecting and calling to him but he didn’t want to hear any more. He heard his companions calling to him and rushing through the undergrowth to check he was all right.

       “Leave me alone,” he screamed and then raced off to a secluded patch of trees, sank to the ground and wept uncontrollably.  

      


	20. Chapter 20

      On the journey back to Telenadas Enavir’s mood became increasingly sombre.   He refused to discuss what had occurred between him and Dorian with his friends and tried not to dwell on it himself but it kept dominating his thoughts.   Lauren mentioned that she had recovered the crystal but he told her he didn’t care. That was not true, of course.   Part of him wanted to take it back, to activate the crystal and hear Dorian’s voice again; to apologise for his outburst and beg his forgiveness, but another voice in his head encouraged his jealousy, rage and feelings of betrayal, keeping him from relenting.   Whenever he did think about Dorian he felt hollow inside and tears were ever constant just behind his eyes.

       It didn’t help that he had nothing else positive to take from the trip.   He had held out high hopes of finding something to counter Solas with or at least find some clue as to his next move.   Instead all he had found was confirmation of Solas’ claims about the Evanuris and an increased suspicion that they might have been responsible in some way for the Blight, even if it was the work of the Forgotten Ones rather than the Creators.   It was a depressing thought that the ancient elves had not only been a pattern of depraved nobility for other civilisations to follow but may actually have inflicted most of the other evils on the world as well.           He became more and more withdrawn from his companions as despair started to set in.

       As they reached the outskirts of their new settlement it was clear that Atisha and the others had successfully started developing the area to accommodate their followers and provide for their needs.   Wagons had been grouped in a similar way to Dalish encampments, with animal skins strung between them to provide a makeshift shelter until something more permanent could be built.   Flatter areas had been cleared and planted with vegetables.   Pens had been constructed and contained an assortment of sheep and goats that must have been found running loose having escaped from farmsteads in the area.   Enavir did wonder if their owners might eventually come looking for them but noted that there seemed nothing in the way of brand or tattoo that marked the animals as belonging to anyone else.  

       On nearing the gateway to the fortress they were hailed by Josmael, who was leading a pack horse loaded with iron bark, Smoke running at his heels.

       “Hi there, any luck?”

       “Nothing useful but we dealt with the Magister,” responded Enavir curtly.

       “That’s a shame.   Still it was worth a shot.” He grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. Josmael had always been irrepressibly cheerful, thought Enavir irritably. “Things have been going well here.   A message came from Enansal this morning that they’ve dealt with the Qunari up on the northern bay.   You were right, Cillian, they did make landfall there.   He’s blown up the dreadnoughts he found and that has had the additional benefit of blocking the entrance to the bay, so they can’t easily bring boats into shore that way.   He’s setting up a guard rota for the old watch tower and then they’ll check along the rest of the coast to the east.”

       “That’s good work,” agreed Cillian.  

       “We’ve established a craft workshop and a smithy.   Several of our liberati are skilled workers and are teaching others.   Best of all is the courtyard. Come and see.”

       He led them through and gestured proudly at what their efforts had produced.   Large shields had been painted with the emblems of the three heroes that Enavir had chosen for their inspiration and set up around the base of a small tree in the middle of the yard.

       “Our very own vhenadahl tree.”

       “But there are trees all around us,” said Enavir.

       “That’s true but Atisha thought it would make good symbol of unity for our community, seeing as we don’t have any sort of unifying religion.”

       “But it’s meant to be a reminder of ancient Arlathan.”

       “What’s wrong with that?”

       “Everything,” stormed Enavir. “It wasn’t some idyllic paradise.   Their rulers were tyrants who used the misery of their people to create wonders to glorify themselves. They hunted humans and runaway slaves.   They misused magic and murdered those who objected.   The whole civilisation was about a favoured few oppressing the majority, just as every empire has been ever since from Tevinter, through Orlais to the Qun.   I dare say it was even like that in the Dales.”

       He stopped as he saw the hurt puzzlement on Josmael’s face.

       “Easy, Enavir, it’s just a tree for us to gather round.   What’s got into you?”

       Enavir glanced round at his other companions and saw their faces were equally shocked by his outburst. For a few heart beats he just stood there mouth moving silently as he tried to formulate what he wanted to say; then something seemed to snap in his mind and he broke down in tears.

       “I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

       He turned toward Josmael, took a step in his direction and then his head started to spin, his legs turned to jelly and he collapsed to the ground.  Cillian was first to reach him, scooping him up and cradling him in his arms.   Enavir leant against him and cried like a baby.   He was vaguely aware of urgent whispers of concern and then being lifted off the ground, he assumed by Cillian because his voice continued to sooth him as he felt himself being carried out of the sunlit yard.  

       They laid him on a bed and covered him with blankets. May be they thought he was cold because he was shaking but it was just his uncontrollable sobs that shook his body. He tried to control himself; felt ashamed they should see him this way but that only made his emotion all the more intense.  

       He had failed them all; there was no hope. What did it matter if they wanted to put a tree in the yard; it would all be destroyed, either by Solas or whichever group of nobles objected to their presence.   He wasn’t sure how much of this he voiced aloud and how much was in his head but he couldn’t escape the sense of despair.

       Then a gentle female voice was soothing him. It was Atisha.

       “Here, lethallin, drink this, it will help you sleep.”

       She cradled him in her arms and poured liquid down his throat.

       “I’m sorry,” he wept.   “I shouldn’t have said what I did.   It wasn’t Joss’ fault.”

       “He knows you didn’t mean it.   Be at peace.”

       She stayed there, gently soothing him and stroking his hair until the potion took effect and he drifted off to sleep.

       It wasn’t a blissful rest but a disturbed series of nightmares that had him constantly slipping in and out of consciousness.   When awake he was barely coherent and his mind was confused; when asleep he threshed about and screamed his distress.   He was vaguely aware of someone talking to him, trying to comfort him but it seemed like they were doing so from a great distance and he was floundering in the dark, unable to reach them.   He felt something damp on his forehead and voices that he couldn’t quite place, speaking in concerned whispers.

       “What’s wrong with him?”

       “I don’t know.”

       “He was very quiet on the return from the ruins.”

       The voices receded and were replaced by images of giant spiders and demons of the Fade spewing out from a massive tear in the Veil.   He saw a great dragon, bigger than anything he had faced, that appeared to be rotting from the inside out. It turned its face towards him and breathed out a plume of darkness   He felt a wave of despair as it washed over him.

       “He’s sweating, his forehead is hot yet his skin is deathly cold.”

       “What is causing this?”

       “You don’t think it’s the onset of blight sickness do you?   He said there was red lyrium.”

       “I don’t think so.”

       A great black wolf was racing across a barren wasteland, hunting.   More wolves joined it.   They were running down a prey, a man dressed in silken robes and bearing staff topped with the image of a dragon. Suddenly he was one of the wolves and he was gaining on the man.   He leapt at his back and bore him to the ground.  

       The man struggled to break free, turned towards him so that he could see his face before the other wolves pounced on him for the kill.   It was Dorian.   He reached out for him but the wolves tore him from his grasp and carried him away.

       “No,” he screamed. “Ma Sa’lath!”

       “It’s okay, Enavir,” he thought he recognised Atisha.   “Calm yourself, it’s simply a bad dream.” There was a short pause. “He’s not responding. He shouldn’t be shaking like that.”

       Strong arms held him as more liquid was poured down his throat, more cooling cloths on his forehead, soothing words and then the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness.  

       The next thing he remembered was awakening in a world of blackness and a sense of a crushing weight bearing down on him.   A feeling of terror overwhelmed him; he was trapped and the life was being squeezed out of him.   He had to fight it, had to throw it off or he would die but he didn’t have the strength; he was slipping away.   Then he thought he heard a familiar voice calling to him.  

       “Amatus.”

       It was barely discernible as though coming from a great distance but he focussed his mind upon it and saw a light in the darkness. He fought against the pressure that was forcing him down and started to crawl towards the light.  

       “Ma Sa’lath.”

       Was this another trick?   Wasn’t he dead?   He fought against the idea, against the invisible hands that kept on clutching at him, trying to hold him in the darkness.   He struggled to his feet and started to run; the light was growing brighter with every step, the voice calling to him, urging him on and he was growing stronger as he neared the light.   It was blindingly bright but he didn’t care and flung himself forward into its embrace.

       He was aware of his surroundings and they seemed real. A strong hand was holding his own and another was gently, tenderly stroking his forehead. He squeezed the hand to confirm it was really there and felt the warmth of his lips in a gentle kiss. His eyes flickered open to be met by Dorian’s look of loving concern.

       “Am I still dreaming?”

       “No, I’m really here.”

       Enavir felt he wanted to cry again but this time from relief.   Dorian was safe.   He grasped his hand tighter and smiled.

       “I love you.”

       “And I love you. I thought I was going to lose you.   You’ve been very ill.”

       “I don’t understand. When did you get here?”

       “I got here this morning and you’d already been ill for a week.”

       “Seven days?”

       “That’s right.”

       “But you were leaving for Minrathous.”

       “Hang Minrathous, you’re more important to me.   I was starting back anyway after you went silent on me but when I heard how sick you were I came as quickly as I could.”

       “How did you know?”

       “I tried contacting you but you didn’t respond.   Then that little girl answered me.   Gave me an earful actually, about how I’d broken your heart. It seems she tends to eavesdrop so knew the password, though I suppose it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

       “Lauren?”

       “That’s the one.   She was looking after your crystal for safekeeping.   She told me how you had collapsed on your return from the ruins and they suspected some sort of spiritual sickness. They were at their wits end as nothing seemed to be helping you and you had dropped into some sort of coma; they were afraid of you just slipping away. The last thing you said before you went under was ‘Ma Sa’lath’.   I told Lauren to place the crystal back on you and I kept the connection open, talking to you when I wasn’t sleeping.   I got precious little of that on the journey I can tell you.”

       “I’m sorry, for that and everything I said.”

       “Now don’t start that. They’ve told me that’s how it began before, with you apologising for some emotional outburst.   Everyone has been worried about you, so I’d better let them know you’re back.”

       He crossed the room to where Lauren was curled up asleep in a chair and shook her gently.  

       “He’s awake.”

       Her eyes shot open, she jumped up, ran across the room and hugged Enavir, before turning and hugging Dorian in turn.

       “I’ll tell the others,” she said and ran from the room, shouting “He’s back, he’s all right.”

       Dorian returned and hugged him, before sitting down once again at his bedside, holding his hand as though he was afraid Enavir might slip away again.   Enavir lifted them up to his face and kissed Dorian’s hand, before leaning his cheek against it; he felt reassured by the physical contact too.

       Lauren returned with his other friends; Cillian, Atisha, Josmael, Fenris, all looking overjoyed as they gathered round his bedside. Cillian smiled at Dorian.

       “Thank you for bringing him back to us.”

       “Oh it was entirely selfish I assure you,” said Dorian lightly.   He was clearly embarrassed at their gratitude; he always joked at times like that. He looked back lovingly at Enavir. “I needed him.”

       “Well thank you all the same,” said Atisha.   “We need him too.   He’s our heart, our hope, our inspiration.” She smiled warmly at him.

       “I’m sorry what I said about the vhenadahl tree.”

       “Think nothing of it; you were right in a way.”

       “Except we’ve found a new meaning in it,” said Cillian. “It’s not about recalling the past; it’s about hope for the future.”

       “It’s our tree of life,” said Josmael.   “It symbolises the growth of our community and the life within it.”

       “They’ve become very mystical about that tree,” said Fenris with a wry smile. “It is covered in prayer ribbons and started to bloom this morning, just around the time he arrived.” He rolled his eyes as he looked towards Dorian.

       “Because he’s one of us too,” said Lauren. “Even the liberati can see that now.”

       “Truly?” Enavir looked doubtful. “I thought Dorian was the reason I’d fallen out of favour.”

       “You ass,” said Cillian.   “Have you forgotten what I told you outside of Qarinus? We’ve put them in the picture about everything else.   They know you got him to free his slaves even before we came north and you are determined to free all slaves.   Nobody who was the stooge of a Magister would do that; nor would the Magister drop everything to rush to his bedside.   The liberati have been praying for your recovery more earnestly than any of us. I can’t actually vouch for who they are petitioning but the sentiment is genuine.”   He gestured to Dorian. “Here, help me support him.   He needs to see this.”

       With Dorian and Cillian on either side, they assisted him towards the balcony of the room that overlooked the courtyard.   As those below caught sight of him, they pointed and started cheering.   People left their work, rushing out of buildings and in through the gate as word spread as to the cause of the outburst of enthusiasm. A chant started to build.

       “Ellas Enavir.”

       “What are they saying?” asked Dorian.

       “Our hope Enavir.” Enavir replied, with a catch in his voice, felt the tears beginning to well again behind his eyes.

       Other words were added to the Chant as they saw who was with him.

       “Ishtarylin, El Falon.”

       “Ishtarylin, Son of the Storm,” said Cillian.   “That’s me.”

       “Then El Falon, our friend, must be Dorian,” said Enavir and he could hold back the tears no longer.

       “It reminds me of Skyhold after we defeated Corypheus,” said Dorian.

       “It’s better,” said Cillian with feeling. “This time it’s going to last.   This time we won’t fail Enavir and let nobles snatch it from us.   We won’t repeat the mistakes of history. We’ll build a better world or die trying but we won’t compromise or surrender our principles, or believe that it always has to end in corruption. This is Telenadas; nothing is inevitable.”

       The next few days the others insisted he rest and recover his strength, both physical and emotional.   Dorian was content to sit by his bedside and chat about inconsequential subjects, play cards or read to him from Varric’s most famous novel, Hard in Hightown, to pass the time.   From time to time one of the others would drop by to exchange pleasantries and report on their latest project, whilst steering clear of anything that might get Enavir too stirred up. He was under strict instructions not to think about anything other than trivia and Dorian had the responsibility of seeing that he kept to it.

       He was also being fed prodigious amounts of food to compensate for the weight he had lost when ill.   Atisha thought small and often would work best, so Lauren made frequent visits to the kitchen to bring him another dish to tempt him.

       “You see, now this is what I said ought to be happening when you were Inquisitor,” said Dorian, “people fussing over you and feeding you grapes.”

       He reached for the latest platter but Lauren playfully slapped his hand away.

       “You know the rules; you fetch your own unless you’re engaged on something important.”

       “And entertaining our illustrious leader isn’t vital enough work to qualify?”

       “Okay, I’ll let you off this time,” she grinned at him; Dorian winked back. “It won’t work you know, trying your charm on me, you’ll have to do something more than sit there and look pretty eventually.”

      “Tell me, Enavir, when exactly did you acquire this bossy wife of yours?”

      “I’m his sister, as you well know.”

      “I don’t buy it; you haven’t the ears dear.”

      “Never heard of elf bloodied?”

      “What sort of scandalous behaviour are you implying his father indulged in?”

      “Adopted sister.”

      “That’s better.   Now if you’d be so kind, I think Enavir could do with a nice bottle of wine; only bring two glasses, there’s a good girl.”

       “Stocking a wine cellar didn’t figure high on our list of priorities.”

       “Nonsense, I know my former betrothed, she wouldn’t have come here without at least some of the luxuries in life.   Ask that liberati of hers, Wilfyr wasn’t it?   He’ll know where she had it stashed.”

       Lauren narrowed her eyes at him and left in search of Wilfyr.   Enavir appreciated the banter, knowing it was done for his benefit.

       “She’s been longing to meet you; I hope she’s not too disappointed.”

       “Naturally not; I’m utterly charming.   Besides she can’t have you without me and she absolutely adores you.”

       “You think so?”

       “Don’t play the innocent, Amatus, you know she does.   Mind you she’s not the only one. I may flatter myself I’m first in line but there’s no shortage of admirers in this place.   You really do have a knack for making people fall in love with you. I wish I knew how you did it; I might have more success with the Magisterium if I did.”

       “It only really works with elves.”

       “So what does that make me?”

       “Elf bloodied, like I’ve always said.”

       “Yes, insult me do,” Dorian’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Still that sounds dangerously like politics and if Lauren comes back and finds us on that subject, she’ll have my guts for garters.”

       Enavir laughed out loud. “What the big, scary Magister is afraid of a little girl?”

       “A little girl that had lessons from you in self-defence; yes, I’d say she’s scary enough.”

       Lauren returned with the bottle of wine and accompanied by Atisha.

       “If you are drinking wine, then I think perhaps you are ready to be allowed out of bed,” the latter commented.   “Still, I want to check you over first.   Your mother would never forgive me if I was lax about your care.” She started to examine his upper body.

       “Does she know about my illness?”

       “Naturally; I wasn’t about to keep it secret from her and we do have the sending stone to keep in touch. Anyway, I wanted her advice.  She’s had many more years’ experience at healing than I do, so I thought she might have some insight into what was ailing you.   It was she who suggested the malady was likely more spiritual than physical and that would account for your rapid decline and failure to respond to the normal cures.   Mind you, the fact that you couldn’t eat wasn’t helping any in keeping your strength up.   She had an answer to that too, honey.”

       “I sat dripping a solution of honey and water into the side of your mouth,” said Lauren. “If you find sticky stains on your pillow, that’s reason.”

       “Your mother has done that before with halla that were too sick to eat.   The servants also used to do that with ancients in Uthenera, except they used to just brush it across the lips.”

       She threw back the covers and moved to his lower body.   Dorian grinned as he saw Enavir blush and cover his genitals.

       “I dare say your clan are a sweet toothed bunch too,” Dorian commented.

       “That’s not why she favours honey though,” Atisha grinned. “We all like a bit of honey but his mother is partial to mead. I remember she gave you some when you were with us.”

       “Oh yes, the honeymoon wine,” he winked at Enavir.

       “Well when we get our mead going up here, I’ll put a bottle on one side for you. The soil here isn’t much good for vines and in any case it would be years before we could harvest them but wine is going to be much too expensive, so we’ll need some alternatives.     Speaking of which, this is the last of the Magister’s wine, so make the most of it.”

       She replaced the covers.  

       “I don’t know who you think you’re being modest for,” Atisha raised her eyebrows at him.   “I’ve seen you naked on plenty of occasions; Lauren had to bathe you while you were sick and as for your lover, I imagine that being naked together is the least of what you’ve enjoyed in each other’s company.”

       Dorian was smirking behind her back.

       “I’d say you seem recovered enough to get up for a few hours.   Just gentle exercise, nothing too strenuous,” she shot a stern look at Dorian.

       “Heaven forbid, madam.   Are all your women so bossy?”

       “That’s the secret of Dalish success,” Atisha winked at him. “Our men are the frivolous, irresponsible ones.   Come, Lauren, let’s leave them to it.” She looked at Dorian. “I assume it’s not beneath you to help him dress?”

       “Not at all, I’ve undressed him often enough.   I assume you just do everything in reverse.”

       Atisha gave an exaggerated sigh of pretended exasperation with him, shot a knowing smile at Enavir and then stalked from the room with Lauren.

       “Thank you everyone for thoroughly embarrassing me,” muttered Enavir.

       “This from the man who kept an entire camp full of soldiers awake with his antics.”

       “What can I say?   I’m a reformed character.”

       “I do hope not. Life will be very dull if you are.”

*****

       After dressing and enjoying a light lunch, washed down by the wine, they went on a tour of the battlements, Enavir learning slightly into Dorian by way of support. He was surprised just how weak he still felt, even after several days of convalescence, but having Dorian’s reassuring presence with him provided compensation. They stopped at a point where they could look out over the rapidly developing settlement.

       “I have to admit your group has made tremendous progress in a very short time.   I wish my Lucerni were as motivated.”

       “Ssh, politics remember?”

       “We can’t stay off the subject forever.   I figure if you’ve been pronounced well enough to move around, you are well enough to think.”

       Enavir glanced towards the door of the Keep and said conspiratorially. “So, what have I missed on the political front?”

       Dorian grinned and moved closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper.

       “The news from the south is very bad.   The Archon tried to play it down but in Carastes there was a state of panic when I left.   Vyrantium has fallen to the Qun, so has Marnas Pell. We were still waiting to hear from Neromenian and Vol Dorma but the indications weren’t good. At best they are still embroiled in civil war. Tevinter is effectively cut off from the major trade routes to the south overland.   The Qunari are providing a pretty effective blockade of the sea lanes too south of Seheron and much of our merchant shipping is hiding out in Minrathous; hence my being becalmed in Carastes when I got your call.”

       “That means the only way to bring in supplies to either side of the Imperium is through the pass south of Arlathan Forest.”

       “It does look that way at present.”

       “Our intervention was very timely then.”

       “Okay, don’t rub it in.   So long as you hold Arlathan you can pretty much name your terms.”

       “I’ll pass that message on to our Magister; I’m sure he’ll want to capitalise on your misfortune.”

       “I already have. Don’t get too cocky; remember eventually there’ll be a reckoning over what occurs during the war; best not give the Magisterium too much of a reason to bear a grudge.”

       “We won’t; it’s just nice to know there shouldn’t be too much “knife ear” being bandied about in the future.

       “I think that’s enough politics for now, I’m under strict instructions not to overtax you and I can see that tell-tale glint in your eyes that means your mind is working overtime.”

     “I’ll be okay; after all I’ve got you with me and everything seems better when you’re around.”

       “I feel the same way about you.   I’ve been a bit of a fool haven’t I, splitting us up like I did? Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

       “What do you mean; are you giving up on Tevinter?”

       “In case you missed the bit about Cillian being governor of our province, I should point out that we are currently _in_ Tevinter.”

       “Oh, that’s true; it is easy to forget with all these free elves running around.”

       “Ouch, that was below the belt even for you.”

       Enavir laughed.   “So you were saying?”

       “Considering what the current situation is, I’m probably helping my country just as much here by getting you back on your feet as I would be in Minrathous. If those fools can’t see they need to buck their ideas up now we have Qunari on our doorstep, I hardly think anything I say is going to make any difference.   Obviously I will have to return to Minrathous occasionally, for appearances sake, but the situation was always going to be different in war time than in peace.   My family seat is in Qarinus so my responsibilities for defence actually do lie on this side of the Nocen Sea.   Of course not all Magisters take their duties seriously in that respect but you seem to have influenced me for the better.”

       “Glad to hear it,” Enavir smiled.

       “It is just coincidence that my patriotic duty also allows me to spend a lot of time with my lover.”

       “Of course,” Enavir nodded sagely.

       “But if I should need to return to Minrathous, then I hope you would go with me.”

       “You really mean that?   You never seemed keen before.”

       “It was a mixture of foolish pride, wanting to achieve something on my own, and an even more stupid desire to protect you.   This latest scare has brought home to me that whilst you might be in danger at my side, you are no safer when you’re not.   It hasn’t been the first time I nearly thought I’d lost you but it has been the first time when I haven’t been with you when you first came into danger.       The thought that you might die and I would arrive too late tormented me the whole journey.   I realise what I must have put you through on the journey to Qarinus and why you got yourself in such a state over me leaving you again.   It was stupid of me to ever think that a crystal was sufficient substitute for us actually being together.”

       “Well it was better than nothing.”

       “I’d have done better to give you a griffon, so you could fly to Tevinter.”

       “Do you have access to one?   I thought they were extinct, although I did hear a rumour they have been rediscovered.”

       “I heard that too.   Joking apart, though, this is as far apart as I ever want to be again.   If you don’t want to go to Minrathous, I won’t either.”

       “Actually I do want to go to Minrathous.   I think Cillian does too.   We’ve an interest in exploring your archives, although I think I’d rather he stayed safe here for the present.   It wouldn’t do to have both of us risking our necks in the capital.   Mind you, I don’t think we should advertise my presence either; I’ll be more use to you that way, working from the shadows.”

       “That’s agreed then, as soon as you feel well enough, we go to Minrathous, together.”  

     Enavir tilted his head round and up towards Dorian, kissing him lightly on the cheek.   Dorian turned him round and they embraced fully.   Whatever happened in the future, they were going to face it together.


	21. Chapter 21

       They returned to his quarters and not long after Josmael called on him to report their progress to date on developing the community.

       “Tish is in charge of administration.   She’s much better at that sort of thing than the rest of us.   That liberati has been doing his bit as well.   I’ve been dealing with construction.”

       “Yes, I’ve been wondering about that.   I don’t see much progress in the way of houses.”

       “That’s because we’ve been focussing on a different form of construction.   You know how in the past when you’ve been feeling all philosophical on us and wanting to discuss the best way to govern, in between ranting on about how corrupt the current rulers are?”

       “Yes, I may have said something along those lines,” agreed Envair, with an embarrassed grin at Dorian.

       “Go ahead, don’t mind me, even if I am one of those corrupt rulers.”

       “You, nah!” Josmael gave a snort of derision at the idea. “I wouldn’t even call you a ruler really.”

       “You insult me.” Dorian pretended to look offended. “I _am_ a Magister.”

       “If you say so,” Josmael responded lightly. “Anyway, we remembered how you said that most rulers are too eager to throw their weight around giving orders and not wise enough to listen.   Well, it occurred to the Dalish among us that we are used to riding around in aravels, not actually constructing anything permanent in one place, so perhaps we would do better to consult with the people who have actually been working on building things in Tevinter.   Most of the slaves we liberated _were_ labourers.   It turned out that none of them had much experience working with constructing timber buildings; Tevinter tend to favour stone.”

       “Doesn’t combust so easily if a spell goes wrong,” reflected Dorian.

       “Exactly, that’s what they told us.   That was going to be a bit of a problem because the nearest stone quarries are back at the mountains.   Some of them had experience making mud bricks but that would take too long as well.   That’s when one of the miners made the suggestion that we build our homes underground; cave houses.   They have the expertise to know how to dig into the hillsides safely and then shore up the structure with timber.   We can build far more dwellings using far less timber in a much shorter space of time. The caves will stay naturally cool in summer but warm in winter compared with their surroundings and they are much less vulnerable to attack.”

       “What about magical attack? Even our Keepers can make the earth shake.”

       “We talked about that and they reckoned we just needed to strengthen the supports and dig the main structures deep enough into the hillside they won’t be affected.”

       “Magic has been used to sink cities before.”

       “From what Cillian told us, that may well have been old elf magic that none of us have access to.   Even if it was his forebears,” he jerked his head in Dorian’s direction, “I doubt any of them have a clue how to do that now.”

       “Sadly what he says is true.   Not that I approve of sinking cities but I’d faint away from shock if any of our current generation could actually pull it off.”

       “Our construction workers have been hard at it since you left for the ruins and it is going well.   They really are motivated because what they are doing is for themselves, not some overlord, and they are very good at what they do.   We should definitely have enough accommodation for everyone before the winter really sets in.   As for storage of food and other items, we decided we didn’t need dungeons, so we’ve been making them watertight and putting everything there.”

       Enavir smiled and nodded. “You’ve done really well Joss.   I’ll take a look tomorrow but I think I need to rest now.”

       “Of course, take your time.   All that matters to us is that you make a full recovery. Well, I’d best be getting back, just in case there is anything that needs my attention.”

       He inclined his head towards Dorian and sauntered out whistling a tune.

       “I’ve noticed that friend of yours does seem to be irrepressibly cheerful,” mused Dorian.

       “Don’t let his genial air fool you though.   Josmael can be more ruthless and deadly than me if he needs to be. It was he who assassinated the Duke of Wycome.”

       “Thanks for the warning. I’ll make sure I don’t get on his bad side; or yours for that matter.” He grinned at his lover.   “I’m guessing he’s another of your devoted admirers.”

       “We grew up together.   He’s the nearest thing I have to a brother I suppose. There is Cillian as well but he’s a recent addition to my relatives and somewhat more serious.   An older brother perhaps, looking out for his younger sibling.”

       “Yes, I had noticed,” agreed Dorian.   “So what would you like to do now?” He gave a wickedly seductive grin.

       “You can’t imagine how much I want to but I really am tired.”

       “Very well, you just lie back and close your eyes, while I read to you from Carmenum di Amatus.”

       “And you don’t think that will arouse me?” He relaxed back and closed his eyes.

       “I’m counting on it but I’ll understand if you’d rather leave it to your imagination.”

       “How about you join me on the bed and we’ll see how it goes.”

       Dorian did as suggested and Enavir nestled against him, savouring once more the feel of the warmth of his body up close.

       “Damn it, I should have undressed first,” said Enavir drowsily.  

       “Don’t worry yourself,” responded Dorian.   “You can leave that to me.   In fact, you leave everything to me.   Just lie back and enjoy.”

       Enavir was only too happy to comply.  

******

       He awoke to find himself protectively entwined in Dorian’s embrace and the evening sun shining on his face.   As he shifted to get out of the path of its glare, Dorian awoke too.

       “Well, that was a very pleasant afternoon was it not?” Dorian gave him a gentle kiss.

       “It was… different from usual, less energetic and yet somehow more sensual.”

       “I think pleasantly erotic are the words you are looking for,” grinned his lover.

       “You know I’ve never really thought of those words as going together but you’re right.” He gave a contented sigh.   “You know what I could do with now?”

       “More of the same?”

       “You _are_ shameless.”

       “I try my best.”

       “I’m not to wear myself out, remember?   Anyway, I am _really_ hungry.”

       “Nothing like sex to give you an appetite for food, or is it the other way round?”

       “Dinner,” Enavir responded sternly.

       “And I suppose I’m the one who has to fetch it for you.   I thought you didn’t approve of slaves.”

       “Man servant.   Call it penance for encouraging me to disobey my nurse.”

       Dorian laughed, threw on a robe and had just started for the door when there was a knock on it.

       “Are you decent?” It was Cillian’s voice.

       “Yes,” called back Enavir. “Come in.”

       “How did he know we weren’t decent?” whispered Dorian. “Has that little girl of yours been spying on us again?”

       Enavir simply shrugged and smiled.

       “It was an educated guess,” said Cillian dryly.   “Are you going somewhere, only I’d like to discuss some ideas of mine with both of you?”

       “I was getting us something to eat.   Would you like me to get something for you too?” Dorian sounded a trifle sarcastic as he asked the question.

       “That would do nicely,” agreed Cillian.   “Nothing like getting these humans waiting on us, is there Enny?” He winked.

       Dorian gave him a level stare. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

       Cillian walked across to the bed and then gave a meaningful stare at the clothing strewn around it.   Enavir took the hint and began to dress.

       “You know, I was nearly fifteen years away from civilisation,” Cillian remarked mildly.  

       “That long?   I had no idea.”

       “I’m not surprised; I doubt anyone really missed me.   When I got to Skyhold I was amazed to discover what year we were in. Then I heard talk of a Blight in Ferelden and realised I didn’t even know there had been one.”

       “To be honest, I gather it was very quick as Blights normally go.   Only took the Hero of Ferelden a year to bring it to a halt.”

       “Even so, the idea that something so momentous had occurred and I wasn’t even aware of it was disconcerting.   I realised that an Arlathvhen had been and gone as well.   I guess that is why I didn’t recognise you at first when I saw you walking around Skyhold.”

       “Surely you wouldn’t know every Dalish that attends the gathering?”

       “You have very distinctive hair.   There are very few Dalish with golden locks like yours.   That is what puzzled me.   Then I remembered.   The last time I would have seen you would have been at the gathering before I left for the wilds. You were just a boy then, only just into his teens but you could still shoot an arrow straighter and truer than archers twice, even three times your age, allowing for the fact that you only had a half bow.”

       “You remember that? I’m flattered.”

       “No you’re not, you insufferable show off,” said Cillian with affection. “At least you were in those days; it was hard not to notice you.”

       Enavir grinned.   “I was rather full of myself I recall.”

       “Not without justification.   You were good.”

       “Were?”

       “You still are to an extent.   When you’re shooting at a target, like you did with the Prince of Starkhaven, you are still peerless.”

       “But…?”

       Cillian looked awkward and embarrassed at what he was about to say.

       “You need to let it go, Enavir.   The mechanical hand is good as far as it goes.   At least it means you can still use a bow but trying to recover what you once had is never going to work.   It doesn’t have the adaptability of your own hand and because you are concentrating your efforts there, you are neglecting others than you need to improve on.”

       “Ah, you mean my sword skills.   I’m not cut out to be a warrior, Cillian.”

       “I don’t think you’ve given it a fair trial.   You have great determination, Enny, and I am sure that if you focussed on trying to improve your sword play you would achieve it.”

       “But not to the level of my archery skills,” Enavir objected.

       “How do you know until you try?   Ask Fenris to help you. Anyway you don’t have to be as good as you were with a bow, just better with a sword than you are now.”

       “Ouch, that hurt.   Was such blunt honesty really necessary?”

       “It is if it gets you to pay attention.   Sometimes friends have to be honest for your own good, however hurtful their words might seem.”

       Enavir gave a deep sigh of resignation and held out his hand to Cillian with a smile.

       “You’re right.   Thank you for having the honesty of a true friend.”

       They clasped hands and then gave each other a brief hug.   Dorian reappeared bearing a tray of food.

       “I’ve got back just in time, I see,” he joked as he placed the tray on a table near the window. “There’s bread, cheese and a selection of cold meats.   That will have to do until the main meal is ready.   Lauren said she would bring it up when it is.”

       They sat themselves at the table and started to help themselves to food.

       “So what did you need to talk to _us_ about?” asked Dorian.

       “Spirits,” said Cillian.   “You are something of an expert I believe.”

       “Well I wouldn’t say an expert exactly.   Not like our old wolf companion anyway.”

       “You’re a necromancer.   That involves manipulating spirits, so you must know _something_ about them. Or do you really just treat them like slaves?”

       “Rather prickly aren’t we?” Dorian said with emphasis.   “I recall our wolf friend said something similar.”

       “He’s not a friend,” snapped Cillian.

       “Steady the pair of you,” admonished Enavir.   “Just tell us what’s on your mind, Cillian.”

 

       “I’ve been giving some thought to our origins and things you saw in the Crossroads.   It has bothered me for some time, the things you said at the Arlathvhen, about how we have grown distant from spirits when we once used to be so close.   It is almost as though the Veil didn’t just break our connection with the Fade but with spirits as well.”

       “May be we just forgot things.”

       Cillian shook his head and frowned.

       “I think it goes deeper than that.   The Veil changed our relationship with spirits, maybe even the spirits.” He paused looking pensive, then continued. “The Chant of Light doesn’t have anything about elves or dwarves.   Do you suppose that Andraste didn’t even mention them?   She knew they existed, so if the Maker jumped from having just the Fade to the creation of humans, don’t you think she would have asked?”

       “I suppose so,” said Enavir. “What are you driving at?”

       “You have been struggling with faith, Enny.   To be honest I have too.   The Chantry claim that what is in the Chant of Light are Andraste’s words but are they all of them?”

       He looked at Dorian as he said this.   Dorian raised his eyebrows and held up his hands in denial.

       “Don’t look to me for guidance on matters religious.   My interest in that field extends only so far as to acknowledge the Maker’s existence, which so far as I am aware is all he’s ever asked of us.”

       “Not according to the Chant,” said Enavir. “There’s a moral code in there too, not that you know from the way nobles behave, in Orlais in particular.”

       “After you came back from the Frostback Basin and started telling everyone about Ameridan and what he said, it made me wonder,” Cillian continued.   “I asked some of the elders at the Arlathvhen about how we viewed Drakon.   They confirmed what Ameridan said, that they thought him no better than Tevinter, but they also said why.   They’d heard what he had done to the Ciriane tribes who didn’t hold the same views about Andraste that he did.     He took ship past the Dales, so he could invade Ferelden and did the same there.   He wiped out all other religions and Andrastrian cults but for some reason he was wary of the elves.   May be he _was_ afraid of the prophet’s promise to our people.”    

       “Well that changed with his son.”

       “His son only had the Chant.   What if Drakon knew something more?   What if that was the reason he left the Dales alone?   Then when it came to him and his Divine deciding what went in and what was left out, those words of Andraste were lost?”

       Dorian looked interested. “Are you are saying there might be more?”

        “There are two ways of looking at it,” said Cillian in a matter of fact way. “Either the Maker neglected to inform Andraste of a huge amount of history before the coming of the humans, which means that whoever or whatever was speaking to her wasn’t the creator of the world at all, or the things that the Maker told Andraste about the elves, the dwarves and the creation of the Veil were either altered or missed out altogether.”

       “That’s an interesting theory,” said Enavir, “but what proof do we have?”

       “To start with, the friendship between Shartan and Andraste.   I know they had a common enemy but he gave his life trying to save her.   Would he have done that if he thought she was a fraud and would he have thought her prophesies genuine if they had omitted the elves?”

       “May be he was just a good, loyal friend,” suggested Enavir with a glance at Dorian.

       “Who took a hundred of his best warriors and raced all the way from Nevarra to Minrathous in pursuit, when he could just as easily have accepted the decision of Maferath and stayed in safety with his people down south?”

       “Cynic,” admonished Enavir.   “You’ll have to do better than that.”

       “Drakon was the grandson of a Tevinter noble.”

       “What!” Enavir and Dorian said together.

       “So you really didn’t know?” Cillian looked at Dorian with raised eyebrows.

       “My mother is the one obsessed with bloodlines not me.”

       “If you say so,” said Cillian with a grin. “As for you Enny, what is the point of keeping so many books if you don’t study them properly?”

       “I haven’t had a lot of time for scholarly research in case you hadn’t noticed.”

       “Fair enough,” he conceded. “I have to admit that the majority of my reading was done while watching over you.   I needed something to take my mind off how dreadful your condition was and I thought researching Orlesian history was sufficiently removed from our current situation that it would be an inconsequential distraction. It turned out to be anything but.”

       “So what did you discover?”

       “The father of Kordillus Drakon was Septimus, the youngest son of Lord Vanderin Drakon. The family fortunes had been declining in Tevinter, so Vanderin arranged for a marriage between his son and the daughter of a prominent Ciriane chieftain.”

       “They were still arranging marriages between Tevinter nobility and the south?”

       “So it would seem.”

       “So was Septimus a mage?”

       “Not at all.   That was probably why it was acceptable to the southern chieftain. The southern author of the history suggests his father was just offloading an unwanted non mage child.”

       “Except at that time the Soporati had a lot more power,” said Dorian.   “Hessarian had allowed them into leading positions in the Imperial Chantry and they also had seats in the Magisterium.”

       “Exactly,” nodded Cillian. “So it had more to do with Lord Vanderin wanting to expand their power and possibly improve the standing of the family back home.   It was definitely a highly political match, the more so because in the fledgling nation of Orlais the supreme ruler was a gothi, or queen, chosen by the clans and Castana assumed that role shortly after.   Now when a new gothi was selected the process tended to be fraught with bloodshed as all the old hatreds between clans emerged.   Septimus, though, was used to the cut throat politics of the Imperium, so the writer thinks it was his expertise that helped get his wife elected.”

       “That would make sense,” reflected Dorian.

       “Once the family was in power Septimus, and later Kordillus, ensured it stayed there. Prince Drakon was even more ambitious than his parents. He wasn’t content with being ruler over a small nation of warring tribes.   He wanted an empire to rival Tevinter.   For that you needed unity, not only in ruler but a common set of beliefs.   At least, that is what he no doubt believed based on the history of the Imperium.   There they had maintained unity through a state religion, first of the old gods, then of the Maker.   Hessarian had used his alleged devotion to the cause of Andraste to remove his political opponents from power.   Drakon did the same in the south.”

       “No wonder our people said he was no better than the Imperium.   He _was_ the Imperium.”

       “Exactly.   Now apparently the woman he ensured was elected to be his first Divine had served in his army, so they had to have some common ground in what they believed.   Whether she was a native or his father brought her with him from Tevinter is not stated but she was apparently already putting together her interpretation of the Chant of Light as far back as -31, when Kordillus was only five years old, so it is possible she even taught him much of what he believed, but he may also have been influenced by his father as well.”

       “So it is possible that the Orlesian Chant is based on what the Imperial Chantry believed at that time and it was the southern beliefs that perished in his crusade?”

       “Yes, that is highly likely.   It could even be why he wanted to eradicate them.   Think about it Enny.   The oldest traditions in the south claim that Andraste and only Andraste ever had contact with the Maker. Yet Hessarian claimed to have heard the voice of the Maker when he gave Andraste a quick death and Drakon also claimed to have had a vision as a child from either the Maker or Andraste that charged him to do as he did.”

       “There were Altus who conveniently said they had been visited by Andraste in the Fade during the Transfiguration of Hessarian,” added Dorian. “Thus escaping the purges that were visited on other families.”

       Cillian nodded. “So the belief that the Maker may still communicate with certain favoured individuals originally came from Tevinter.   Now I hardly think Tevinter would want it constantly promoted that an elven slave had inspired a revolt against the Imperium, so Shartan likely does not feature anywhere in the Imperial Chant?” He glanced at Dorian. “Is that not so?”

       “Yes, but it was the southern Divine that removed it, remember?”

       “True, and at that time the northern and southern Chantries were united.   However, it did seem odd that the older Chantry would have wanted to appease the southern one at its establishment unless they thought it was in keeping with their own.   No doubt, they studied the copy of the Chant of Light that Divine Justinia produced. Just as with their own, the Chant had no references to elves.   It was all human centric, so they felt happy to acknowledge their shared heritage.”

       “No elven reference? What about Shartan?”

       “It wasn’t in the original version but was only added in 1:8.   Why do you suppose that was?”

       “Because Drakon was trying to mollify the elves to get them to assist with the Blight.”

       “A highly cynical interpretation of the facts but most likely true,” agreed Cillian.   “So there you have it. The reason why the Chant is so human orientated and the elves play no part is because it was primarily a Tevinter interpretation of the ideas of Andraste and it was politically expedient to exclude them.”

       “Surely Ameridan must have been aware of this?”

       “May be he was.   Did he not say to you that Drakon wanted to simplify things?   Ameridan may have reflected what had been acceptable in the south up until that time.   Our people had no trouble from the surrounding tribes in the previous one hundred and fifty years.   This book says the only thing that really united them was their shared devotion for Andraste, yet those tribes also seemed to find it acceptable to worship other gods provided they gave pre-eminence to the Maker as the Creator of the world.   Everything changed with the coming of Drakon.   There is another thing that confirms the elven connection with Andraste.”

       “What’s that?”

       “The sword, Glandivalis.   It _is_ elven.”

       “We assumed so given the name.”

       “Enny, did you read _all_ of the note that Varric sent to you from Kendrik?”

       “I read the translation, it was very interesting. We discussed it before.”

       “You didn’t read the original elven?”

       “I’m not terribly good at translating and it was old elven.”

       Cillian sighed in exasperation and pulled out a small pocket book.

       “I’ve made a copy of everything. In fact when you were lying here dying, it was all I had to keep my mind off things.     This is how the penultimate line begins. ‘ _Ir tela’ena glandival, vir amin tel’hanin.’_ Do you want me to repeat it?”

       Enavir shook his head. “It says, glandival.   That’s the stem for Glandivalis.”

       “Exactly. The translation given is ‘ _When we could no longer believe._ ’ Glandival means ‘believe’, so the sword Glandivalis must mean believer or keeping the faith or something similar.   Now remind me what were Andraste’s words to Shartan when she gave him the sword?”

       “Take this my champion and free our people forever.”

       “Who named the sword?”

       “Some people say that it already had that name.   Others that Shartan named it.”

       “So if Shartan named it, he called the sword “believer”.   If it already had that name, Andraste gave it to him likely knowing its significance. Who did her sword belong to originally?”

       “Her mother.   We discussed this before.”

       “I didn’t have the translation before.”

       “What does your spirit guide say?”

       “Wait, he has a spirit guide?” Dorian looked at Cillian in amazement.

       “Yes, but I’d rather you didn’t broadcast it too much.”

       “I can understand your reticence.   Do, please, go on.”

       “Spirits can only tell you so much.   However, what I do realise now is that the reason the spirit in the sword cannot properly protect you is because you haven’t made a proper connection with it. I think it is a faith spirit.”

       “You’re saying that I have to believe in the Maker?”

       “You have to believe in something.   Shartan believed in Andraste or her cause, enough that he was prepared to die defending her.   That takes pretty unshakeable faith.   You also need to devote yourself to learning the skills of a sword master sufficiently that the spirit in the sword has faith in you.”

       “So that’s what all that conversation about my dedication to being a warrior stems from?”

       “That’s right.   I don’t know if Glandivalis really is an ancient relic of our people but they did have a different relationship to spirits and I believe the spirits also had a different relationship with the world.     The Veil changed everything.”

       “So in what way was the relationship different?” asked Dorian. “As I said, my knowledge of spirits is rather rudimentary and your censure was probably justified, but I would like to learn more.   Alexius and his wife were very interested in the Fade before the attack on Felix that left her dead but I don’t recall him ever suggesting that spirits were different to how we view them now.”

       “Are you familiar with the creation myth of our people, about Elgar’nan and the sun?”

       “Yes, Enavir recounted it to me before I left for Tevinter.   I recall I found it a rather touching celebration of reconciliation and forgiveness.”

       “But neither of you really believe it is anything other than a nice story?”

       “What are you getting at, Cillian?” Enavir looked questioningly at him.

       “What if the symbolism was actually conveying a truth about how the Creators came into being?   There was the Sun, which is in the sky and that was associated with the Fade.”

       “Skyhold; the place where the sky was held back.   It used to be Fen’Harel’s castle, so it may have been where he raised the Veil,” confirmed Enavir.

       Cillian nodded. “The Earth was the material world.   When the Sun touched the Earth, that would be a sunbeam of light, and where the Fade touched the material world, it brought into being a spirit that was a manifestation of that light, Elgar’nan.   The earth started to produce other life but it lacked the touch of the Fade that could sustain it against the rigours of the material world.   The sun burned them up because they lacked the necessities to survive.   There was no water.”

       “Then while Elgar’nan fought with the Sun, trying to stop him from doing this,” Enavir continued the train of thought, “the Earth cracked and brought forth water from which Mythal was born, a water spirit.”

       “When Elgar’nan threw down the Sun it became dark.   What does light do if it blinds you?”

       “You can’t see, your world becomes dark.”

       “Then Mythal soothed Elgar’nan and persuaded him to stop causing the darkness. Then the elements of heat, earth, light and water created new life.” Cillian became excited, which was surprising for Enavir to see in itself, given his normal calm demeanour. “Do you see?   The Creators were nature spirits. Sylaise was fire; Andruil, earth; Dirthmen and Falon’Din were air spirits, one on the material side passing on knowledge from the Fade, the other on the Fade side guiding people to it in the Beyond.”

       “What about June?”

       “June created himself.   He was the manifestation of the creative impulse. Then the creatures they brought to life in the world, they guided and taught how to survive in it.   This would be the origin of our stories about them.”

       “It does seem to fit our legends,” agreed Enavir.   “It also fits what I know of Cole. He seemed to come into being through touching something within the material world without actually possessing it.”

       “I have further proof,” said Cillian. “Remember Zathrian?”

       “I recall he was an elder who seemed to have found the secret of our immortality but then he was missing from the Arlathvhen and the Keepers wouldn’t talk of it, only said that they had been deceived.”

       “They are ashamed at what he did.   I noticed he wasn’t there when I went to the last Arlathvhen.   No one would tell me either but I persuaded Atisha to tell me.   The Hahren’al had declared his actions a crime against nature and not to be spoken of or repeated.   He bound a spirit, the Lady of the Forest, to a wolf through a ritual involving blood magic that also bound him to them as well.   The intent was to enact a curse on the humans who had brutalised and killed his family but the side effect was that so long as the curse survived, so did he.   From what I have heard, the spirit had not been summoned from the Fade but had always been part of the forest from when it was planted by the ancient elves.   That means it was there before the Veil was raised.   The whole world was probably inhabited by spirits then.   They were in the water, the land, the rocks, the trees.   It was like everything had a soul.   Even inanimate objects possibly, like a sword, could be endowed with a spirit at its creation. May be this was the effect of June on the world.   Glandivalis could have been the creation of June himself.”

       For a few seconds they all sat in reflective silence, before Dorian spoke up.

       “That’s all very lovely and mystical but you will recall that at the time the Veil went up your Dread Wolf claims they were anything but benign nature spirits.”

       “That easy to explain,” said Enavir. “He said the road to godhood started with a war.   That is always a destructive process.   They were the Creators, whose nature was to create, guide and teach.   Now they were required to rule, command and destroy.   It twisted their nature, so they became proud, ruthless, tyrants. Nor is nature always benign, as we Dalish know all too well.   It can be violent, cruel and dangerous, just as they were.”

       “More than that, it explains why the spirits changed on the raising of the Veil. Previously they were able to pass freely into our world if they wished.   The nature of those that did was to want to impart knowledge.   Those that were not so compelled remained in the Fade. When the Veil went up those whose nature it was to interact with people and impart knowledge could no longer do so.   They were frustrated and became twisted because they could no longer fulfil their nature.     So they became demons through finding any way they could to contact with the world and encountering only our worst emotions.”

       “Which is what Andraste alludes to in the Chant,” mused Enavir.  

       “It seems to me that the majority of the Chant only refers to the time after the raising of the Veil,” said Cillian.   “The elves had withdrawn and the humans were spreading across the world.   So it made sense that this part of the Chant would be focussed on the relationship between the Maker and humanity.   If there had been more to Andraste’s teaching than this part, though, it would explain why it seems to skip from the early days of creating the Fade and the spirits to the world after the Veil, making it seem like nothing had occurred in between.”

       “If only we knew if there had been more. Can’t your spirit help?”

       “Not all spirits have been around since the dawn of creation.   You know yourself that if a spirit is destroyed in the material world, it returns to the Fade to reform but it loses much of its identity and memory of its time spent here before.     To confirm our story we would have to seek out a nature spirit, such as the Lady, that had been living on this side of the Veil and left untouched by the events of the world.   Given the number of Blights there have been, I should imagine there are not many left unharmed. Still, leaving aside whether Andraste got her history right or not, the rest of the theory does seem to make sense, don’t you think?”

       They both nodded their agreement.   Enavir walked over to where Glandivalis hung in its scabbard and drew the sword, looking at the runes along the blade.

       “The spirit needs me to believe to truly protect me?”

       “Believe as Shartan believed, in something worth dying for, and then perfecting your skills so that they are worthy of that belief.”

       “How will I know if the spirit accepts me?”

       “It will touch your mind.”

       “That sounds a lot like doing a deal with a demon to me,” said Dorian, with a warning look.

       “You deal with spirits and bend them to your will,” said Cillian.   “Yet you warn against a mutually beneficial relationship.   I spoke much with mages at Skyhold. There are mages who do similar thing to become spirit healers.   They are known as spirit mediums.”

       “Those are mages, though, and I have no magic of my own,” objected Enavir.

       “There are warriors who use lyrium like mages. Why not spirits?”

       “Well not exactly like mages.” Enavir fell silent as he called to mind another conversation he had had with Cassandra, the Seeker. “No, you are right.   Cassandra told me how they acquire their Seeker powers. Then spend a year in isolation and meditation, emptying their mind of everything but their faith in the Maker and at the end of it a spirit of faith touches their mind.   It gives them various powers but most important of all they are immune to blood magic mind manipulation or possession by demons.”

       “You never told me that,” said Dorian.   “That would be an incredibly powerful tool for a warrior to have in Tevinter.”

       “I’m sorry, it just slipped my mind until now.”

       “Wait a minute,” Dorian looked thoughtful.   “When Divine Urian came to power they said he had the assistance of a southern Templar but now I come to think of it, his title was given as that of a Seeker.   I remember thinking at the time, what does that mean?   There is nothing like that among the Imperial Templars.”

       “They don’t use lyrium either from what I was told.   Those Templars we sent to aid Maevaris really flummoxed the mages who attacked her home because they hadn’t encountered _real_ Templars before.   Having a genuine southern Seeker as his disposal would have really given him the edge against his enemies.   Do you know who it was?”

       “No but I dare say I can find out.”

       “You see, Enny,” said Cillian. “What I am suggesting is only what Seekers have been doing down south.”

       “Except that I don’t have a year to spare for meditation.”

       “May be you won’t have to.   Just be open to the idea, work at your skills and see what becomes of it.   It will be hard because of the prejudices of our own people towards magic involving spirits but you must overcome these fears.   The spirit will not try to possess you or control your mind but once you have made the connection, it will protect you from anyone else who attempts to harm you through the Fade, in addition to granting powers of the Fade itself to help you in your battles.   I would not suggest this if I thought it would harm you in any way.   Think of it as recovering yet another part of our ancient lore.   I do not believe this discipline came about only after the creation of the Veil but no matter whether it is an ancient skill of our people or not, you do need to learn it.   I think your recent illness was caused by blood mages sending demons to seek you out and attack your spirit, even if they couldn’t fully control your mind. You must become a Spirit Warrior.   When it comes down to it, you may find that it is your only protection against the Dread Wolf.”

       Enavir glanced at Dorian for his reassurance that he did not object.   Dorian nodded and smiled his assent.

       “Very well, I accept your advice.   I will retrain as a Spirit Warrior.”

       “Excellent,” Cillian seemed highly satisfied with the outcome of their conversation.

       “I have given much thought to a focus of our beliefs as well.   With all due respect to you, Dorian, using the term the Maker has too many associations with our oppressors down the years.   I do not believe that the Chant wholly reflects the teaching of Andraste and Enny and I feel Chantries, both north and south, do not seem to insist on those in power keeping to it.   So we need a name for our god that reflects the essence of what we believe without the bad associations.”

       “What we believe?” Enavir raised an eyebrow at him.

       “You feel the need to believe in something, do you not?   Just like me you have trouble with accepting anything associated with the Chantry.” He looked at Dorian. “Do you believe in the Imperial Chantry?”

       “As an institution, no, but I do believe in the Maker.”

       “How exactly?”

       Dorian shrugged. “I told Enavir long ago that I find it reassuring to think there is someone out there watching over us.   The alternative is too frightening to contemplate. It would mean that there is no purpose to anything and no hope for anything better in this world or the next. It would all be just random. There must be a Creator.”

       Cillian smiled benignly at him as to a young child and Enavir was reminded of his mother and her talk with him back in Wycome.

       “Ah Dorian, I see you at least believe in cause and effect.   There has to be a Creator because there is a world.   There has to be a First Cause that resulted in everything that followed. It is only logical. Wouldn’t you agree, Enny?”

       “When you put it like that, then I do.”

       “I was drawn to the fact that the oldest parts of the Chant probably pre-date Andraste and draw upon older beliefs.   Were you aware that there is one part of the Chant that refers to the Fade as the Beyond?”

       “But that’s what we Dalish call it.”

       “Exactly, so either Andraste was aware of elven beliefs, for this was before the Dales, or elven followers influenced the Chant.   You see, this is why I think some other parts must have been missed out or removed.   Then there are three references to the Fade being a well or water.   In another old part of the Chant, the Canticle of Andraste, she calls the Maker, the Wellspring of all, in the Canticle of Silence, Hessarian refers to the Wellspring of Creation and in Drakon’s prophesy he speaks of the waters of the Fade.   Then later in the Canticle of Andraste she says:

       ‘Here lies the Abyss, the well of all souls,

       From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.

       Come to me, my child, and I shall embrace you,

       In my arms lies Eternity”                        

       All the traditions seem to agree that the Fade is the source of life.   The Maker allegedly spoke to Andraste from the Fade and the Maker’s first children were said to be the spirits. It follows that they would be closest to what the Maker is. It is the creative life force in the Beyond, the Great Spirit that drives the universe.     Do you not find it curious that in our language we use the same word for spirit and sun?”

       “Elgar?”

       “Exactly, and we call Elgar’nan the eldest of the Sun, perhaps more correctly we should have called him the first born of the Spirit.”

       “And the symbol of the Maker is the sun,” added Dorian.

       “Also he is associated with light.   It could be that our legends got mixed up and when Elgar’nan threw down the sun, it was referring to the later rebellion.”

       “When the First of our People stopped being helpful teachers and accepted the role of god.”

       Cillian nodded.   “The core moral teachings of the Chant are what we hold to and are very little different from the values of loyalty to family and community that we understand the Creators taught us.   It is the same faith and has the same deity at its source, the Wellspring of Creation or the Eternal Spirit, Elgar’Bellanaris.”

       “Elgar’Bellanaris,” nodded Enavir in agreement, “or simply Bellanaris.”

       “The Maker is a lot simpler,” complained Dorian, “but if it makes you happier, I’ll use the term when among my elven friends.”

       Cillian grinned at Enavir and they both nodded.   There was a pause in conversation, while they helped themselves to more food, then Cillian’s mood became more sombre and he turned his attention to Dorian, giving him a penetrating stare.

       “If you two have resumed your physical relationship, can I assume you’ve told him?”

       Dorian looked uncharacteristically contrite and couldn’t meet his eyes.   Cillian stood up abruptly.  

       “He deserves the truth.” He glanced towards Enavir. “I’ll be next door if you need me.”

       With that he swiftly left the room.   Enavir gave Dorian a questioning frown and he responded with an apologetic look.

       “Cillian explained to me how the soul bond of the Dalish is different from human relationships, even from the majority of elven ones. He said it truly has a spiritual dimension. So whatever external factors might have been involved, ultimately the reason you became so ill was because you lost confidence in me, in us, and it was tearing you apart mentally and spiritually. Then the demons took advantage of your weakness.”

       “I was wrong to do that.   The fault was mine. I should have trusted you more.”

       Dorian shook his head. “There you go, beating yourself up again.   That was Cillian’s whole point. You’ve been under stress for a long time now and putting a brave face on things because you thought you were being disloyal to me if you didn’t.   When I heard some of what the liberati had told you, it appalled _me_ to hear it. You were feeling guilty about something that was totally understandable.   Fenris told me what Livia said.”

       “It was stupid of me to believe such lies.”

       “It wasn’t all lies,” Dorian said softly. “I’m so sorry you had to hear about it that way.   If I’m honest, I think deep down that is why I wanted to keep you away from Tevinter, because of how people might use my past against me and I didn’t want to subject you to that.”

       He reached out a hand and clasped Enavir’s, gave a deep sigh and continued.

       “I was a pretty obnoxious kid, always getting into trouble at school and making life hell for my fellow students.   My excuse, if I had any, was that I always felt under such pressure to do well and live up to the lofty heights my parents had planned for me.   No one ever asked me what I wanted.   Initially it was just resentment about that. I was constantly asked to move on from the school I was at, which was a source of embarrassment to my parents.   As I reached puberty, I became more confused and frustrated because of the attraction I felt towards the other boys, which naturally was discouraged by our elders even when the feelings were reciprocated.   Finally, just before my sixteenth birthday, as a last resort to try and sort me out, they sent me to a private school in Minrathous with a reputation for adhering to strict Andrastrian discipline.”

       “What exactly would that be?”

       “From what I could tell, living off a meagre diet, praying constantly and beating any inappropriate behaviour out of you.   After enduring three months of misery, I finally took my chance and ran away.   I couldn’t go home; I was afraid they’d only send me back there, so I lost myself in the city.   I had very little money and avoided anyone who might report back to my parents, so I ended up in a brothel in the elven slums.   That’s what Livia was meaning. I don’t know who she heard it from, I thought it had been hushed up, but wherever she got her information, it was inaccurate.   I wasn’t there as a customer; the whores had found me wandering the streets and took me in. Not all of them were elves; there were elf bloodied too, to cater for every taste, so I just pretended that’s what I was.”

       “I’m so sorry I ever teased you about that.”

       Dorian gave a slight smile.   “You weren’t to know.   It was there that Alexius found me. I never did discover exactly what he was doing there but I suppose it had to be the obvious.   He certainly wouldn’t be the only Magister that used the place.   I was drunk as I always needed to be to be able go through with it and I propositioned him.   I was wearing my amulet and he recognised it. He also believed me when I said it was rightfully mine, so instead of calling the Templars he decided to rescue me.   If he hadn’t I might be there still, or dead.   Certainly I wouldn’t have met you.”

       “So you have seen a little of what life is like away from the lofty heights of the nobility?”

       “A little; the elves that took me in told me something of their lives, hence my comments about poverty.   I wasn’t there long enough to say I had experienced any real hardship.   Anyway that’s all there is to my slumming it with elves.”  

       He squeezed Enavir’s hand.   “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve had plenty of human partners but there had never been an elf before you.”

       Enavir gave a slight smile. “Let me guess, you are more naturally drawn to strapping young Altus with perfect bodies and big muscles.”

       Dorian gave him a quizzical look. “You’re okay with that?”

       “I seem to recall you called me strapping once too, which I found amusing at the time, but I suppose compared with the majority of elves I am.”

       “Not Cillian though. He has muscles that an elf shouldn’t have beneath that tight fitting armour of his. Can you honestly say you’ve never been tempted?”

       “It never even crossed my mind. We’re close friends, nothing more. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m solely attracted to the perfect body of a certain Altus male.   As my mother once pointed out, _our_ relationship isn’t _entirely_ spiritual.”

       Enavir got up from the table and went round to hug him.   Dorian stood up and they held each other close.   There was a short pause, while they just savoured the feeling of unity once more. Then Dorian said quietly.  

       “Rilenius was the last man I was with before my father kidnapped me and hauled me back to his estate.   We were in bed together and my father’s thugs literally tore us apart.   I was fond of him and I suppose he just slipped into my mind when he did because of my resentment against my father.   It wasn’t that I wanted him instead of you; I was just wondering if things would have been different if my father hadn’t intervened.   You said you had no regrets about us.   Well, I don’t have any regrets either, except giving you cause to doubt me. You are all that matters to me now, you and no other.”

       Enavir felt the last shadow fall away from him and his spirit lifted. He looked up into Dorian’s eyes.

       “Thank you for telling me, Ma sa’lath.”

       Dorian gave a wry smile. “I didn’t have much choice really.   Your adopted brother is _very_ protective of you.”

       “He always defended _you_ when I expressed doubts.”

       “To be fair, he said he was thinking of both our welfare.   He says we’re both stronger for being together.”

       “I think he is right; our love is what keeps me strong.”

       “Me too, Amatus.”


	22. Chapter 22

       After this conversation Enavir’s recovery proceeded at a much faster pace.   His strength was returning and he was able to start training again.     With his other companions dealing with the day to day running of Telanadas, he was able to focus his time almost exclusively on improving his sword skills.     Cillian helped him as much as his own duties would allow, as he was heavily engaged in training his select group of mages in the art of the arcane warrior.   Others in their company who specialised in swordplay also did their bit to assist him, particularly Fenris.  

       Much of the time, though, it was just a matter of him running through the same set of exercises on his own, that would improve his balance, his agility with the sword and strengthen the muscles in his arm and body in the required way.   This necessitated altering the way they had built up over the years in the use of his bow, where the emphasis was on the contracting strength of his upper arm and between his shoulder blades.   Now it was all about maintaining the correct hold on his sword whilst his muscles moved quickly from extension to contraction and back again.

       Whilst he was thus engaged, Dorian spent much of his time in careful study of the various documents and books in their collection, in case they may have missed anything.   He seemed to be forming a far better relationship with Cillian than previously, the two developing a mutual respect, coupled with a loyalty towards Enavir that they both acknowledged and appreciated.     He noticed that Dorian also seemed to be taking instruction from Cillian in something, although he did not join in with the fledgling arcane warriors.   Finally he made his announcement to Enavir one evening over dinner.

       “I’m taking up a new field of specialist study, that of force mage.”

       “Really? What about necromancy?” Enavir was astounded as he knew Dorian had been working at the field for many years.

       “I’m not giving it up so much as focussing elsewhere.   I gather my manipulation of spirits is not generally well received by those who know them.   Cole was unhappy.”

       “I thought you got on rather well.   He was always asking you questions.”

       “That was because he was trying to understand the complexities of human relations and I seemed to make such an excellent study of the matter, given my numerous issues. However, that was always when you were in attendance.   He was very ill at ease if I approached him at Skyhold.   Cillian has helped me see how difficult it must have been for Cole, knowing what my actions were doing to spirits weaker than he was.   Cillian says it would be like you seeing me abuse an elven child and yet knowing you still had to work with me.   He also pointed out that it could lead to complications in our relationship considering you are likely to become much closer with spirits in the future.   To be honest it has bothered me when I think of how Mythal proves that people can live on after death. So Cillian has been helping me develop a new approach towards spirits.   Today I made my first contact with a spirit since I took the decision, my first step towards being a spirit medium.”

       “Wow, that’s amazing.”

       “Focussing on the skills of the force mage will allow me to utilise my studies of the Fade with Alexius, whilst I’m given to understand being a spirit medium would allow me to reverse tranquillity in those people who have been punished with it in Tevinter.”

       “What about the side effects?”

       “It would have to be done with care and with people on hand to support them through the change back to normality but at least it can be done if I develop my skills in the proper way.   There are very few people who deserve tranquillity.   In fact I would go as far as to say it is never justifiable.   The majority of those who have suffered it in Tevinter have just got on the wrong side of a political rival with the power to enforce it.   Plus they are almost exclusively from the Laetans class.   One Altus would be extremely loath to order the punishment on another in case it set a bad precedent.”

       “In that case, I’m glad you have found a new focus for your talents.   To be honest I always found your necromancy a bit creepy, although that may have had more to do with my innate Dalish prejudice against magic using spirits.”

       Dorian laughed. “I’ll still be interacting with spirits, so now you’ll have three subversives, including yourself. Well done, Amatus, although at least you can’t say I was the one to lead you astray. Credit for our latest bit of heresy against both the Andrastrian and the Dalish religions is entirely down to Cillian.   He is a fascinating fellow. You know, he put forward a most interesting suggestion, that we have been so concentrating on the effect of Solas tearing down the Veil on _us_ we have never really given enough consideration to the adverse effects on the inhabitants on the other side of the Veil.”

       “But Solas always insisted on how much we should respect spirits as people.   Surely he would have considered that?”

       “May be he just thinks it will put everything back to how it was before and that it won’t have a bad effect on them.   Cillian points out, though, that having adjusted to the new situation way back when, it may be just as traumatic for them to reverse the process.”

       “I hadn’t really thought about it in that way.”

       “That’s his whole point.   No one does.   Apparently, though, Cole told him that when your mark was acting up at the end, the spirits were retreating into the depths of the Fade in case you ripped open the Veil again.”

       “They could simply be the ones that have never been interested in crossing the Veil.”

       “True but we know many of those spirits that manifested on this side of the rifts were being dragged through against their will and being transformed in the process.”

       “Some wanted to come through though and I don’t think demons like Imshael or Envy would be worried about the change.”

       “I dare say some mad Magister would have a similar attitude.   You said that it took all your efforts to persuade some of your fellow Dalish it would be a bad idea, even after you told them everyone was going to die.”

       “It’s a pity I didn’t think of that when I was talking with Fen’Harel. May be the potential harm to his friends would have given him pause.”

       “I think if the death of millions of people wasn’t going to stop him, then he’d hardly be worried about the spirits either.”

       “I’m not so sure.   If everyone becomes a spirit when they die, may be that is how he has justified it to himself, because essentially they will survive the event, simply in a changed form.   However, if it could be shown to him that wouldn’t be the case and it would destroy the spirits too or at least alter them in an adverse way, then perhaps he would reconsider.”

       “I suppose anything is worth a shot, assuming of course we ever make contact with him again.”

       “It is another line of enquiry we can pursue.”  

*****

      Now it appeared that Enavir was well on his way to full health his friends were more willing to discuss progress to date in their settlement.   They called their first real council meeting since his collapse, in the map room where it was easier to see what had been accomplished.

       The coastline had been secured, as had the eastern border.   Nothing untoward had been encountered on the southern side of the forest and keeping the entire perimeter patrolled would spread their numbers too thin, so the generals had opted for concentrating on the areas likely to be at greatest risk of further invasion.     There was a permanent garrison on the northern bay and eastwards towards the mountain known as the White Spire.  

       There were also the remains of watch towers on the passage to Antiva.   Whilst they didn’t have to fear invasion from this direction at present, it had seemed expedient to establish another settlement there.   If there were any remnant Qunari in the forest, they might well try to secure the pass and disrupt the last major supply line.   Regardless it was too important to leave to mere chance.   Varric had also informed Atisha that some merchants might be unwilling to travel into a war zone but would be happy if they could trade at the relative safety of a border post.

       This would also provide a good base to send out forces to guard their own wagons carrying goods into their region from Antiva and the Freemarches.   Whilst the former country was closer, they didn’t have the reliable contacts there that they had further south and in any case the sort of produce they needed was grown in the Freemarches.

       Hawke had already started to send her consignment north with the group of Dalish from Wildervale, who had received word of their establishment in Arlathan Forest and wished to join them, so it was decided to send the majority of their wagons to collect their consignment in Ansburg.   Meanwhile liberati craftsmen were busy constructing grain stores to house their goods that couldn’t be stored in the dungeon when they arrived.   Only a fraction of the grain was actually required by the citizens of Telanadas.   The rest was to be held in reserve pending negotiations with the rest of Tevinter, starting with Qarinus.

       Varric had used his merchant contacts to purchase as much surplus grain as he could in Ansburg, whilst Hawke had done the same with his help in Starkhaven.   Thanks to the sending stones they had also managed to negotiate a price before the true state of southern Tevinter became known.   It was likely that their first shipment might be able to make the run without attracting undue attention from bandits but once the situation in Tevinter became widely known, the merchant caravans coming north would need protection.   Whilst they didn’t feel obliged to send their forces into Antiva to protect all the merchants coming north, they could at least ensure their safety once they reached the passage.

       It had been agreed that their first excursion since his recovery should be to Qarinus with Cillian when he had the document listing the freed liberati officially sworn in front a judge.   Neither of them intended returning any slaves who sought refuge with them, nor were they going to tolerate slave hunters anywhere within their borders, but nevertheless it seemed expedient to at least appear to follow protocol.  

       Wilfyr had completed the list giving the names of every slave who had accompanied them to Telanadas but since no one was likely to know exactly how many slaves had been with them, he felt at liberty to add several hundred extra names that any future runaways could adopt should the need arise.  

       It also transpired that some of the original names would be going spare too, since many of the human slaves from Marothius had decided to take their chance further afield, as their leader explained.

       “It’s not that we’re not grateful to you or we don’t trust that you’d do right by us but it’s those bastards in Minrathous we’re wary of.” He looked at Dorian. “No offence meant.”

       “None taken,” Dorian assured him.                           

       “So where will you go?” asked Enavir.

       “We gather it’s only a short march to Brynnlaw in Antiva.   Those fighters among us thought we’d try there first; see if a mercenary band will sign us on.   Alternatively we might head for the coast.”

       “Watch out for slavers; there are plenty of them among the Raiders.   Mind you the worst of them operate out of Llomerryn.   Still if its steady work you want, you could do worse than Kirkwall.”

       “That’s a long way south.”

       “We’ve got wagons going down as far as Ansburg to collect grain.   I’d pay you to guard them as far as there.   Then you could head down river to Wycome and take ship to Kirkwall from there.   I’ve got friends in both places; so they could smooth your way.   Anyway, the offer’s open until you leave.”

       Next to bid him adieu was Fenris.

       “I think it’s time I got back to Hawke.   We’ve pretty much done what we set out to do and I think you’ve got things well enough in hand now that you don’t need me.”

       “I’ll miss you.   You’ve been a big help but then I think you know that.   We couldn’t have got this far without you.   Sorry you didn’t get to kill more Magisters.”

       “I bet he isn’t,” Fenris nodded at Dorian.

       “You’re mistaken,” said Dorian. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a trip to Minrathous, all expenses paid? I’m pretty sure I could rustle up some suitable targets there.”

       “Thanks all the same but I think walking into the heart of the Imperium would be pushing my luck too far.   I’m still officially a slave there and my appearance is likely to attract too much unwanted attention. Good luck to you both in dealing with them though.”

       While they awaited the arrival of the first assignment of goods from the south, it was agreed that Cillian and Enavir would make the relatively short journey to Qarinus to register the liberati document and negotiate the terms of supplying the city with its leaders. Enavir seemed strong enough now in mind and body to undertake the journey and Atisha was confident that with Dorian at his side there would be no relapse.

       They set out on the first day of Havestmere with two dozen riders to accompany them, just in case there was trouble on the way.     This allowed them to relax and chat as they rode.   Dorian began the conversation.

       “Was there any connection between the demon that possessed Livia and the Old Gods or the Forgotten Ones? I’m not an expert on the old elven gods but I thought we’d established they were mages, not spirits, so assumed the other old gods must be the same.”

       Enavir gestured to Cillian. “Over to you on that one.”

       “We have already considered the possibility that the elvhen had their origins in the spirit world and then crossed over into Thedas where they became more substantial and material, like your friend Cole.     I have been studying the writings from the Crossroads.   There is one which talks about exploring the deepest reaches of the Fade, in which the writer mentions that those who have never manifested outside the Fade find it easier to make the journey.   It could merely refer to the fact that some spirits have never crossed to our world but it then talks about our brethren of the air when referring to these individuals.   You don’t usually use the word brethren unless there is some sort of kinship between you.   Have you ever heard a Tevinter mage refer to spirits like that?”

       “No, but I do know one individual who thinks of them like that, Solas.”

       “And Solas is?”

       “An ancient elvhen.”

       “Exactly.”

       “Hmm, that’s interesting,” Dorian looked thoughtful, “but how does that relate to the other ancient gods?”

       “Well, if there is a spiritual dimension to our ancient forebears, this could account for why they seem to be able to split their soul between different vessels.   So it is possible that an ancient god could be both in the Void and in Thedas but I think if we had really encountered an ancient being like that we would have had a great deal more trouble defeating them.   More likely Livia had been possessed by a spirit of despair after she became trapped there, having willingly agreed to it in return for the power she received.”

       “What about that place being the arch demon’s prison?”

       “Now that I think it was being truthful about.   No need for deception there and in any case you couldn’t fake the effect that place had.   If you wanted more evidence of that fact, look what it did to Enavir.   That was the last piece that brought the rest of his emotions tumbling down.”

       “It’s true; it was only after being in that place that I started feeling so wholly negative about everything.”

       “So why didn’t it affect the rest of you in that way?”

       “I hadn’t been under the same amount of long term pressure that Enavir had and I didn’t actually touch the ground or stay as long in the depths.   Plus, and I say this with sincere affection, I’m really not as emotionally inclined as you are Enny.”

       “You’ve certainly learned to control them better than me,” Enavir agreed with a smile.   “As for Fenris, I noticed he started to glow as soon as he felt the vibes in the place.   The pure lyrium in his skin was counteracting the red lyrium in the rocks.   You will recall that the darkspawn wouldn’t go anywhere near the Titan that we visited and I think that was because of the prevalence of pure, untainted lyrium.   Probably the song of the lyrium repels them in the same way that the song of red lyrium and the arch demon attracts.”

       “They are two opposing forces, one drawing its power from the Fade and one from the Void.   Darkspawn can use red lyrium without any ill effects because their origins lie in the Void but it is deadly to anyone else.”

       “Except dragons,” said Dorian. “Do you remember that document you got translated in Nevarra?   It said that dragons seem especially resistant to the taint, which seemed odd in view of what happens with arch demons.”

       “They aren’t ordinary dragons, though. They are either the earthly forms of the Forgotten Ones, so do express the power of the Void in their magic because of their link to them, or are the split soul of the Evanuris, corrupted by the magic of the Void.”

       “Either way,” said Cillian, “that is the essence of the Blight and the darkspawn taint.   It wasn’t some curse of the Maker; it is the power of the Void, the antithesis of life.   Why would the Maker, as Creator of all life, wish to send an anti-life force into the world?   No, Andraste got that part wrong; it is the curse of the Forgotten Ones.”

       “You really think so?” said Dorian.

       “We Dalish have a word that refers both to the Blight and the place it originated, banalhan. The literal translation is ‘the place of nothing’, which is another way of saying, the Void, the home of the Forgotten Ones, at least one of whom was a god of pestilence.   Blood magic is a tool of theirs as well.   If elves did use it before humans, I’m pretty sure it was the Forgotten Ones who taught it to them.   Then in their guise of the Old Gods, they taught it to the ancient Dreamers too.”

       “That does make a lot of sense,” agreed Dorian. “Still blood magic isn’t innately evil, only when it is misused.”

       “There speaks a Tevinter mage,” Cillian gave him a wry smile. “At what point does it become misuse?   I don’t believe Bellanaris ever intended that people should cut themselves in order to do magic.   Besides using that means to gain mana avoids the necessity of making contact with the Fade and thus with him.   Even if there is nothing inherently wrong with that, my studies indicate that there are some spells that can only be achieved through blood magic and all either cause terrible pain, often followed by death, or enslave and manipulate the mind of the victim.   That points to it having a much closer connection to the Forgotten Ones and the Void than is advisable.   Is it not true that even the amount of suffering caused in obtaining the blood has an impact on the amount of mana you obtain?”

       Dorian looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I really am only a theorist you will understand.”

       “Relax, Dorian,” said Cillian.   “Even if you did dabble a little in your rebellious past, Enny here is a very forgiving sort of fellow.   He currently has a former blood mage running both his school in Kirkwall _and_ the Circle in Starkhaven.   Where do you think I obtained my knowledge on the matter?”

       Dorian looked visibly relieved. “So you think it was these Forgotten Ones who encouraged the Magisters to enter the Fade, either to corrupt the Golden City or be corrupted themselves.”

       “Correct; that is the only bit we can’t be sure about.”

       “Hawke says some of the Wardens doubt the Chanty’s version of events and Corypheus definitely insisted that the city was already black when he got there.   If that was the case then whoever encouraged them to go there did it with the deliberate intend of unleashing the Blight on the world.   Then having achieved their aim they stopped helping any more. That would definitely fit with the nature of the Forgotten Ones as we Dalish know them.   They are the gods of terror, malice, spite and pestilence.”

       “Even red lyrium is caused by corrupt magic and death affecting pure lyrium but, so far as we can tell, only when in its crystalline form.   Hopefully the purest lyrium of all, the streams of silver that Enavir and you saw in the Deep Roads, is immune to and can even destroy it.”

       They rode for a while in thought; then Dorian spoke again.

       “Alexius’ wife made a great deal of study of the Fade; it was her specialty.   She made some sort of connection between Fade and lyrium, as though the latter was in some way a conduit to the former.   It can also be used to block the passage of magic, though, as when the Templars use it themselves to negate magic and the lyrium brand used to make mages tranquil.   Do you suppose lyrium is connected in some way with the creation of the Veil?”

       “Who knows?” said Enavir. “Actually we know who knows but he wasn’t forthcoming on the subject.”

       “He didn’t want to tell you too much in case you found a way to stop him.   Nor would he divulge why he was so adamant he had to tear down the Veil.   Let’s think about it a moment.   The Evanuris were out of control; the normal regulator of their affairs, Mythal, had been killed and he was afraid their unfettered use of magic was going to destroy the world, so he shut them away to prevent this happening but in the process altered the nature of reality, reducing the effect of the Fade on the material world.   Everything that followed took place in a magically reduced world, including the release of the Blight, using Void magic.   Do you think he feels that drowning the world in Fade magic again will counteract the Void magic and get rid of the Blight?”

       “I suppose that is a possibility,” said Cillian.

       “Assuming that the world of the elvhen didn’t have the Blight” said Enavir.   “If not, then what was the thing in the depths that he was afraid the Evanuris would unleash if left free?”

       “A great dragon perhaps, or some other creature?   Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt for the moment,” said Cillian, “though I never thought I’d be saying that.   In his many conversations with you, Enavir, he expressed the idea that he awoke to discover a world even worse than he left and his people in mortal danger.   Surely that did amount to a bit more than just a dislike of the political makeup of the world?”

       “He said he wanted to save the elvhen people.”

       “From what exactly?   From mortality, from petty human rulers, from the Qun or something far worse?”

       “The spread of the Void,” asserted Dorian.

       “Well it’s as good a theory as any, I suppose.” said Enavir.   “The Blight is insidious in the way it spreads, corrupting everything it touches, and it would seem that at least some of the petty human rulers think using red lyrium would be a good idea.”

       “It at least gives us a basis to work from that isn’t simply floundering in the dark,” said Cillian. “Plus even if we’re wrong, trying to find a way to stop the spread of the Blight and the Void isn’t the worst aim in the world.”

       “We’re agreed then,” said Dorian, “we focus our research on finding out everything we can about the Fade and the Void.”

*****

       On arriving in Qarinus, their first stop was the Courts. When Cillian presented the list of liberated slaves to the Magistrate he visibly blanched at the numbers.

       “Do you wish me to read them out aloud,” said Cillian, “or are you willing to accept my word for the number of liberati and approve the document?”

       “I’m happy to take your word for it,” the Magistrate agreed. “Do you swear that you released them of your own volition and were not under threat at the time?”

       “I do so swear.”

       “Then I officially affix the seal of this Court to the document and will place the copy supplied with it on file here.   Anything else?”

       “The document listing my family members who have been raised to citizenship in the Laetan class with me.”

       “You have a very large family,” he said skeptically as he starred at the document.

       “The Dalish are all related in one way or another.”

       “Very well, the document is recorded.”

       “Lastly, my will giving the line of succession should anything unfortunate befall me. That includes my seat in the Magisterium.”

       Once again the official seal was attached and they left the Courthouse.   Dorian was chuckling.

       “That was a crafty move on your part about the list of liberati.   He was probably only too glad not to advertise just how many you have set free.”

       “So official business done, what next?” said Enavir.   “We’re not due another meeting with the Council until tomorrow?”

       “I was thinking of taking you shopping.   If you are travelling to Minrathous you need to be suitably attired.”

       “I told you I wanted to stay in the shadows.”

       “You never know when you might feel the need to accompany me to an official function.   It pays not to stand out by looking like a hobo; then you can hide in plain sight. We’re just not going to announce you to the world.”

       “Okay, when you put it like that.”

       “I’m going to need some suitable robes too then,” said Cillian.

       “I was hoping you’d agreed to stay behind,” said Enavir.

       Cillian sighed with exasperation.

       “If I hide in Telanadas when I could be travelling to Minrathous, that will be showing weakness; which I surmise might be deadly when dealing with the Magisterium, is that not so, Dorian?”

       “Brazening it out has worked for me up to now,” he agreed.   “However, I’d recommend a low key arrival rather than advertising your presence, until we see how the land lies.”

       “Fair enough, provided I do get to travel with you, unless you think I’m going to get in the way.” He gave Enavir a meaningful stare.

       “Not at all,” he replied quickly, “I was just concerned for your safety. There’s a lot riding on your appointment.”

       “Thinking we are indispensable is the fastest way to abuse of power because you expect other people to feel that way too and then they start to believe it.   You have been doing totally the right thing, Lethalin, first in Kirkwall, where I gather your initiatives are going from strength to strength; then in Starkhaven, where the little community you established is also flourishing.   Now the same is true in Telanadas.   You saw what progress has been made while you were ill.   I’ve done my bit in putting various ideas into action but I’m confident that they will develop without me needing to be there directing them on a day to day basis.    That’s why Fenris felt he was able to return home.   We’ve got some good people leading the community; let’s give them the space to do so.”

       “If you feel that is for the best.”

       “I know it is.   We can best serve them by dealing with the politics first hand and delving into the archives in Minrathous trying to find answers to our dilemma of how to deal with Fen’Harel.”

       “Great,” said Dorian, “so clothes shopping it is.”


	23. Chapter 23

       The main bazaar was in the lower part of the city near the docks.  In peacetime there would be constant arrivals of ships from all parts of the Imperium and beyond but the ships were becalmed and there had been no new arrivals since before the siege.   However, Enavir noticed the dreadnoughts were no longer waiting off shore and he pointed out this fact to Dorian.  

       “I wonder when they left,” Dorian agreed, “and where they went.”

       They arrived at a long covered thoroughfare.   Many of the stalls were still well stocked and only a handful of shoppers. Likely people had been loath to spend money on goods that might have to be left behind if it was necessary to flee in a hurry.

       The robe merchant was pleased at the sight of three customers but then his face fell when he saw that two of them were elves.   No doubt initially he thought they were simply Dorian’s slaves and thus not likely to be requiring his wares.  

       “Welcome, you lordship, what may I do for you today?   A new set of dress robes perhaps?”

       “Yes, for my companion here, actually,” Dorian gestured towards Cillian.   “We shall need some utility robes that he can wear over his armour as well.   Perhaps some casual wear for the home?”

       The merchant looked doubtfully at Cillian and back at Dorian with an incredulous expression on his face.

       “Robes,” he repeated, “for this …… gentleman?”

       “That’s right,” said Dorian brightly. “Chop, chop, we haven’t got all day.”

       The merchant clearly wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not but in the absence of any other customers he wasn’t going to quibble further.  

       “Very well, I just need to take his measurements and then I’ll see what we have in stock.”

       Having adjusted to the curious state of affairs, the merchant went about his business with smooth efficiency.   He took some measurements, jotted some notes in a small pocket book and then indicated they should follow him into the interior of his shop.   He gestured to a rail with an array of dark coloured robes.

       “These should all fit over armour with little adjustment needed.”

       Cillian wrinkled up his nose.

       “They’re a bit drab aren’t they?   Haven’t you anything more colourful.”

       “My clients usually don’t want to stand out too much on the battlefield.”

       Cillian gave a knowing smile and winked at the other two.

       “Believe me, I tend to stand out on the battlefield regardless.   I want my allies to see me and my enemies too for that matter.   It’s a morale issue.”

       “Morale, yes,” the merchant looked troubled. “Such a request would not normally be a problem but I have only a limited range at present.   How about embroidering your family crest and trimming it in your chosen colours?”

       Cillian sighed in exaggerated fashion.   “I suppose that will have to do.   Very well, I’ll take these robes in black with the silver studs.   You can supply emerald trim and I’ll have my own seamstress deal with it. Now for the dress robes.”

       “Yes, sir, certainly, this way if you please.”

       He bustled on further into the shop.   Enavir leaned into Cillian as they followed.

       “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

       “What do you think?” Cillian grinned back.

       “That man is lying through his teeth, of course,” commented Dorian.   “Most Altus wouldn’t be seen dead in coloured robes.   This is the latest fashion and he wouldn’t normally stock anything else.   Then again, you are a Laetans, they do tend towards ostentatious displays of vulgarity.”

       “Your robes have never been exactly muted,” pointed out Enavir.

       “Ah but then you will recall that I simply revel in being different.”

       They continued with their purchases.   Cillian picked out a striking set of dress robes in midnight blue and some casual attire.   Enavir was also able to purchase some black leather armour that would be suitable for official functions.   The merchant was told to have them packaged and delivered to their camp just outside the city gates.   They were just about to head that way themselves when a servant ran up with a message for Dorian.

       “Apparently news has spread of our presence,” he announced. “The Council has called an emergency session and would like us to attend.”

       “Trouble?” Enavir said questioningly.

       “We’ll see, shan’t we?   I doubt they’ll be stupid enough to antagonise you given the state of affairs elsewhere.”

       “You mean you hope they won’t be stupid enough,” Cillian said dryly.   “They never showed much common sense down south.   I doubt Tevinter nobles will be any different.”

       “ _I’m_ a Tevinter noble,” pointed out Dorian.

       “Yes, well as you keep telling us, aren’t you somewhat unique?”

       “That is true but it still grieves me you have so little faith in our intelligence.”

       “I have found it pays not to have unrealistic expectations. That way I am never disappointed.”

       Dorian led to the way to the City Hall.   They were ushered into a grand, subterranean meeting room, full of marble columns and decorated arches.   At the far end was a semi-circular table, with ornate chairs arrayed on the outer rim.   By contrast, there was a rectangular grouping of plain chairs opposite the table on the inner rim.   Clearly this arrangement was to emphasise the superiority of those seated at the main table over those opposite them.   The council members were seated at the main table and evidently those from Telanadas were expected to take the subservient role.   Cillian chose to remain standing and Enavir followed suit.  

       Dorian stood to one side as though unsure as to which party he should attach himself.   The other Magisters did not seem inclined to invite him to join them. It was immediately apparent that this was not a meeting of the full council.   Only the Altus members were there, plus a rather distinguished looking dwarf.   This accounted for the meeting taking place underground.   As before, Tiberius Alrida acted as Chairman.

       “I must say I am surprised to see you here, Pavus,” he said immediately. “The last we knew you were meant to be heading back to Minrathous.”

       “I was sadly becalmed and then received word from Telanadas that demanded my attention.”

       “Telanadas?”

       “The name of our new settlement,” Cillian responded genially. “Having successfully expelled the Qun from our forest, we have been establishing ourselves in the area.   We have based ourselves around the old Tevinter fortress.”

       There was a pause.   It had already been agreed between them that they would divulge no more than was asked of them concerning their recent expedition to the ancient city or reveal how close to death Enavir had come.  

       “Were there no survivors?” Marcus Aurillius enquired with just a hint of concern that Enavir was careful to note.

       “Unfortunately the Imperial troops had been overwhelmed by the Qun and the Magister in charge is deceased.”   Cillian informed them, avoiding the necessity to explain exactly how the Magister had met her end.

       “That is regrettable,” said Marcus.

       “Quite so,” agreed Tiberius.   “Still life must go on.   We are pleased to hear how well you have repaid the faith of our Archon.   It seems we will have further need of your services.   I must also stress the need for secrecy.   No word of what passes between us should be heard beyond these walls.   We wish to avoid panic in the populace at large.”

       He nodded in the direction of the dwarf.

       “Roshek Stonecutter, from the Qarinus Ambassadoria, will explain.”

       The dwarf was richly dressed in red velvet trimmed with ermine.   He had a long, black beard, intricately plaited, that hung down as far as his waist.   There was a golden circlet around his hair, a gold chain of office around his neck and his finger were bejewelled with numerous rings.   The name suggested origins in the smith caste but his dress suggested warrior at the least and more likely noble.  

       “News from down south is dire,” the dwarf said in suitably grave tones.   “The Qunari have taken control of all the southern ports, from Neromenian round to Marnas Pell.   We heard news this morning that they have also secured Vol Dorma.   In other words, all southern trade routes are now blocked.”

       “You don’t look surprised,” Tiberius said in suspicious fashion as he regarded them.

       “You will recall I was in Carastes,” said Dorian. “You have only confirmed what was already suspected.”

       “You have been somewhat free with information,” said Marcus

       “Magister Revassan is a citizen and an ally.   Why should I conceal the situation?”

       The answer likely lay in the fact that none of the Laetan members of the council were present.   Maevaris Tilani pursed her lips and gave a brief shake of the head in such a way that suggested Dorian should hold his counsel.

       “Let us be clear,” Tiberius said carefully. “It is not in _our_ interests for this news to become known beyond those who can be trusted with it.”

       Cillian glanced at Enavir and gave a sly grin.

       “How sad,” he said, “that you do not feel us to be trusted allies when we have been working constantly to ensure your survival.”

       “I very much doubt that,” said Marcus. “Besides which we hardly have need of you to ensure our survival.   We have endured the Qunari before and withstood them, as we have all attempts to conquer us.”

       “Without lyrium?” Cillian responded sweetly.

       “Who says we need to do that?”

       “Come, come, I’m not a fool and neither is Comte Lavellan.   What other reason does this dwarf have for giving us an audience?   The southern trade routes are blocked and that means the normal supply route from Orzammar.”

       “There is, of course, the alternative of Kal Sharok”, suggested Enavir.

       He was amused to see Roshek flinch perceptibly at the mention of the bitter rivals to the dwarf kingdom.

       “However, the taking of Vol Dorma will even have made such a possibility difficult, since the main merchant route would pass through there.   In any case, Kal Sharok will not be of much use to you on the eastern side of the Imperium.   There is only going to be one way that you can be supplied and that is via the trade route from Antiva, through the mountain passage along the border with Arlathan Forest.”

       “Very well,” sighed Roshek. “That is indeed what I was about to propose.   It is most fortuitous that you arrived when you did or the Qunari would have laid siege to the entire Imperium.   If you will safeguard lyrium shipments through the pass, then it is agreed that you will be allowed a ten percent commission on the value of the shipment.”

       To Enavir’s amazement he heard Cillian laugh.   Looking at his companion he saw him shake his head gently, as though exasperated at the suggestion.

       “No deal,” he said emphatically.

       The group sitting opposite him looked displeased but also slightly anxious.

       “What would you propose?” said Roshek. “I am authorised to negotiate whatever terms you desire.”

       “I assume your attempt at luring me into committing treason was just a test,” said Cillian. “I have to admit, I do not appreciate your efforts.”

       He gave a quick glance in Dorian’s direction and then returned to stare at Roshek.

       “It is my understanding that to attempt to profiteer in a time of war is an offence against the Imperium. We have already set up a border control on the pass from Antiva. As directed by the edicts of the Consiliare, we shall levy a fee on all imports of non-essential goods in order to pay for the upkeep of our army.   We will also take a levy of five percent of all lyrium imports to be held in reserve in a safe location, pending direction from the Archon as to its distribution.   We will, of course, supply the Archon with a full list of all lyrium shipments passing through our protectorate, so the Consiliare can ensure that they are distributed in accordance with war time rationing directives.   To that end, I would also appreciate a copy of the latest census of Qarinus and current food supplies, so we can ensure any shortfall is made good.”

       The Magisters seemed somewhat overcome by this assured declaration on Cillian’s part.   Tiberius was the first to find his voice.

       “You dare to lecture _us_ on correct protocol in times of war?”

       “I thought rather to demonstrate that I take my duties as governor of Arlathan Forest very seriously indeed.   As I have previously stated, I assumed you thought to test my loyalties towards the Imperium.   I trust that is the case and you were not genuinely seeking to involve me in some underhanded conduct?”

       Tiberius looked flustered. “No indeed.”

       “Good, then I take it I have passed your examination.   Now, if you will excuse me, my companions and I have other pressing duties to perform.   Vitae benefaria.”

       With that he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, with Enavir in close pursuit.   Dorian hung back, no doubt to gauge the reaction of his fellow Altus.

       “That was pretty impressive,” whispered Enavir and they strode up the stairs.

       “I’m glad you think so,” Cillian responded with a wry smile. “I must say I am so glad we spared the life of Wilfyr.   He has proved invaluable in enlightening me as to Tevinter protocol.”

       “That came from him?   I thought that perhaps Dorian?”

       “He merely confirmed it, when I enquired.   To be honest, he was not fully acquainted with war time procedures; merely that the Consiliare are responsible for such matters.   He is more a lobbyist, so finds administration somewhat tedious. I dare say there is a fair number of Altus with a similar disinterest in the legal niceties of the Imperium.”

       When they reached the open air, Cillian halted and sunned himself whilst they waited for Dorian to catch them up.

       “Festis bei umo canavanum” he swore as he arrived.

       “Come, come, my friend, you can’t say you didn’t enjoy that just a little?” Cillian winked at him.

       A sly smile crossed Dorian’s face as he turned away from the prying eyes of the City Hall and they started to make their way down the street.

       “Of course, but we must keep up the pretence that I am flustered, for appearances sake.”

       “If you really think that would fool them, you are politically naïve,” responded Cillian. “Face it, Dorian, you have thrown your lot in with us, for better or worse.”

       “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” he sighed.

       “Not having regrets are we?” Enavir gave him a questioning look.

       “No, but I think the sooner we get to Minrathous the better.   Maevaris will keep an eye on them at this end but I need to ensure we maintain our momentum in the capital.   The lucerni have been without direction for far too long.”

       “So Maevaris didn’t approve of that episode?”

       “To be honest, I think she wanted to test you.   She wasn’t exactly thrilled at your appointment as Magister and she does have strong links to the Ambassadoria, so her interest in the lyrium trade is genuine.   Mae is no blood mage and is as anxious as I am to weed out the corruption in the Magisterium but we don’t see eye to eye on everything.”

       “Like your upstart elven lover?” Enavir raised an eyebrow at him.

       “More like upstart elven mages.   Still, she hasn’t forgotten she owes you one for the help you gave her in the past, Amatus, so for now you can rest assured she’s still on our side, for the most part.”

       “How very reassuring,” said Cillian with sarcasm.

       Before they left the city, Enavir insisted on paying one final visit to a Soporati dress shop.   This drew a fair bit of comment from his companions.

       “I want to surprise Laruen,” he explained. “Plus she also needs to look the part when we travel to Minrathous.”

       “Your shadow is coming with us then?” Dorian narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you sure there’s not more to your relationship?”

       “You know full well there isn’t.   I promised her that she could.   She was upset enough I left her behind on this trip.   Besides with me concentrating my training on sword skills, we need an expert to replace me in the shadows.   She has become an accomplished knife fighter and you have to admit, she doesn’t miss much.”

       “Actually I think it a splendid idea,” said Cillian. “She can pose as my mistress. That will give us entry into some female circles and allow her to attend official functions without arousing suspicion.   What do you think, Dorian?”

       “Seems a sound plan to me.” He pointed to a deep blue dress embroidered with silver stars. “Now that looks just right, it will offset her skin tone.   It will also match your dress robes.”

       They spent the next half hour selecting a wardrobe for Lauren to take with her, complete with dresses, tunics, trousers, head dresses and jewelry. Enavir couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when he showed her them.

       When they arrived back at Telanadas he found Lauren less enthused than he had hoped for. In fact she seemed distracted and hardly focussed on the dresses at all.

       “Is everything okay?   I haven’t offended you have I?”

       “Oh no,” she bit her lip and looked pensive. “I’m just not sure I should go with you to Minrathous after all.”

       “Why not, you were threatening me in all manner of ways before, if I failed to take you with me this time?”

       “It’s Wilfyr. I think I need to be here to keep an eye on him.”

       “What’s he done?”

       “I’m not sure but he seems to be spying on what Dorian is doing.”

       She looked across at Dorian. “I came up here with some of your silken undergarments that I had washed for you, you can thank me later by the way, and Wilfyr was in here, over by the desk you have been working on.”

       “May be he was just curious,” suggested Dorian.  

       “Or looking for something to blackmail you with?” said Enavir. “He shouldn’t even have been in here.”

       “Well, most of the important stuff is kept locked in your chest.   The only thing that I had left out was that old parchment that Varric sent you.   I may have mentioned it to him in passing the other day, asking if he knew of any scholars in old Tevene.”

       “He wrote something down,” said Lauren.   “I saw him stuff a piece of paper in his pocket, so after he left I went to see.   I can’t read so I wouldn’t know old Tevene from elven but he had been leaning on the blotter, so I tried rubbing a piece of charcoal over some paper to see if he had left any indentations.”

       She removed a piece of folder paper from her pocket and handed it to Envair.  

       “It isn’t a complete copy but you can see there are words there.”

       Enavir studied it.

       “This is just something in common.   Must have been something you were working on previously, Dorian.” Then his attention was taken by a word. “Hold on, this says vermin. You wouldn’t use that term.”

       He re-read the piece of paper again.

       “There is another shipment of vermin due …..Molioris.   Should be sufficient…. under ….. exper…..let the other acolytes……. Preparations should begin”

       He looked at Dorian in amazement.

       “This isn’t a copy of that parchment, it’s a translation.”

       “Which means…..” Dorian raised his eyebrows.

       “Wilfyr knows ancient Tevene.”   He smiled at Lauren.   “Well done.   I think we need to have a word with our slippery recruit.”

       He invited Wilfyr to take dinner with him and Dorian.   If Wilfyr suspected anything in this, he didn’t show it.   Enavir allowed everyone to simply indulge in small talk until their meal was complete.   As they sat savouring the wine that Dorian had purchased in Qarinus, Envair broached the subject.

       “So, friend Wilfyr, it seems you have been holding out on us”.

       “How so?” Wilfyr sounded all innocence. “Has not my advice been of use?”

       “Very much so, but it seems you have been keeping your talents hidden.   Dorian asked you to recommend anybody trustworthy you knew with knowledge of ancient Tevene.   Odd you didn’t mention yourself.”

       “Not really,” Wilfyr responded with barely a tremor, “you see, as you say yourself, I’m not trustworthy.”

       “We could do with a translator like you in Minrathous.”

       “Why do you suppose I kept quiet?   I knew you’d be urging me to go with you and there’s no way I’m stepping back into that pit of vipers.”

       “I could order you to.”

       “Thought I wasn’t slave anymore?” Wilfyr glared at him.   “Or was that just hot air you spouted at me before?”

       Enavir gave a resigned sigh. “No, you’re right, I can’t make you go with me.   I suppose I was just hoping for bit more gratitude.   You _were_ working with the enemy.”

       “Yep and then I agreed to work for you but I’m still not going to Minrathous.”   He glanced at Dorian.   “Still I’m willing to make a compromise.   My mistress always said that you were an intelligent fellow.   It’s about the only thing she thought you did have in your favour. How quick are you on the uptake?”

       “Remarkably good, though I say it myself,” Dorian preened.

       “Right then, give us to the end of the month and I’ll teach you the basics.”

       “Surely it’s not that easy?” said Enavir.

       “I said the basics.   You’ll have to focus, of course, and not object to being bossed by an elf liberati.”

       “Have you not noticed, I’m accustomed to be ordered about by elves.” Dorian grinned at Enavir.

       “Right,” Wilfyr nodded. “I’ll let you have some of my notes as well. I’ve been keeping them for years.”

       “Where did you learn?” Dorian asked curious.

       “Your fiancee’s father.   Making a study of ancient records had been his life’s work but it was secret from anyone else.   He trained me so I could help him. It’s probably what kept me alive, being able to pick it up so well. It’s not every slave that could do so.”

       “You’re not wrong there,” agreed Dorian. “So when do we begin?”

       Dorian entered into his lessons with a dogged determination, so much so that Enavir barely saw him outside of their time in the bedroom and even then Dorian frequently came to bed so late that all he wanted to do was sleep.  

       He told Enavir that his pride was at stake; he didn’t want to be shown up as less able than a liberati. Whilst this was likely true in its way, Enavir could see the scholar emerging that he had always suspected Dorian to be, behind his façade of casual decadence. He had a love of learning of its own sake and an earnest desire to discover more about his nation’s history.   Naturally this would be easier to accomplish with a working knowledge of ancient Tevene, so Dorian immersed himself in his studies under the guidance of Wilfyr.

       In order to remove any distractions, Enavir spent his free time in study of his own. Cillian’s revelations about the Emperor Drakon’s ancestry had reawakened his interest in that period of history, in particular with regard to the establishment of the Chantry and the origins of the Chant of Light.   Gradually a new outlook started to emerge for him.   He made careful notes of his findings so he could share them with Dorian and Cillian when it was suitable to do so.

       Cillian also suggested he should accompany him down to their Antivan outpost to welcome the arrival of their supply wagons. It came as something of a surprise when the caravan came into view as it was accompanied by a huge contingent of Dalish, more than a hundred aravels, with scouts on foot and an additional herd of halla.   Cillian grinned as he saw Enavir’s astonished face.

       “I didn’t tell you before, Enny, as I wasn’t sure how many would come.   In any case, I wanted it to be a surprise.”

       “But how did they know?”

       “Many of the clans left word where they would be located this summer.   Once we had recovered Telanadas and secured the forest, I told our people to send word.   Any who wanted could join us in the north.   The clans are coming home, Enny.   This group is only the beginning.”

       “I thought they didn’t approve of what we proposed doing.”

       “Some didn’t.   Most of them returned back to the Brecillian Forest or took your advice and headed for the Arbor Wilds.   With the majority of the clans it wasn’t so much disapproval as disbelief that you thought things could be different, particularly after your experience with the Inquisition.   They accepted what you told them about humans not being responsible for our loss of immortality but they still didn’t trust them or that anything could be achieved by working with them.   You’ve proved them wrong.”

       Enavir shook his head.   “It wasn’t just me.   I couldn’t have achieved anything without the rest of you backing me.”

       “It was you that inspired us, lethallin.   We meant what we said the day you came back to us.   We would not have had the courage to attempt what we did without you.   You wanted to build a better future for your people and now you have.”

       “Fen’Harel could still destroy it all.”

       “Which is what you and I and Dorian are going to try and prevent; however, if the Dread Wolf cannot be stopped at least we shall face what comes as a united people in our own sanctuary.   That’s why I couldn’t let you bury the old city.   We may need it as a refuge to protect our people from the fires of chaos.”

       As the aravels drew closer, Enavir realised his mother was with them.   He leapt off his horse and ran to greet her.

       “Mother, how wonderful,” he embraced her warmly. “I thought you didn’t want to leave Wycome, though?”

       “They can manage without me now. Some of the younger members of the clan have married into the community and want to settle there permanently. The eldest of these took my position on the council.   Atisha is near her time and may need my assistance.   I wanted to see my son again and the ancient land of our people.   I’m so proud of you, ma len.”

       “It wasn’t just me.   Everyone did their bit.”

       “No false modesty with me,” his mother smiled and shook her head. “If you hadn’t had the courage and the vision to try for this, it wouldn’t have happened.” She gave a smirk. “It seems having a human lover wasn’t such a bad idea after all, outside the obvious benefits.”

       Enavir felt himself blushing.   His mother always seemed to have a knack for teasing him in that way.   He was rescued by Cillian riding up to join them.

       “So what’s the news from down south?” Cillian asked.

       “The human lords are starting to panic a little over the situation in Tevinter with the Qunari.   They wonder if it might be a prelude to a more widespread invasion.   Before I left on my journey north, our council had even received a request from the Margrave begging us to help train his elves.”

       “Really? He wasn’t keen when I was there.” Enavir raised his eyebrows.

       Deshanna grinned. “Oh I might have publicised the fact that members of our clan had helped break the siege of Qarinus and driven the Qunari back into the sea.   Then when the elves started heading north, people seemed to be sorry to see us go.   Refugees are just pouring out of southern Tevinter and the stories they are bringing with them aren’t good. Telanadas was the only silver lining in an otherwise dire situation.   I think the Freemarcher lords realise what a mistake the Exalted Council made in forcing you to disband the Inquisition. They also realise that their city elves now have a viable alternative to staying in their slums and they have started to wonder what they would do without them. Either way things are looking up for the time being.   Now I’m eager to see what I’ve been hearing about.”

       They were preparing to leave for home when Polis hurried up.   He and Farux had been entrusted with running the border post with a mixed group of Tevinter elves and strict instructions to check every wagon that attempted to pass through.

       “There’s a merchant making a fuss over our border check.   When we looked inside his wagon we found slaves, so we freed them.   Now he’s demanding to see our commander.”

       “Very well, let’s give him what he wants,” said Enavir.

       “He’s got an odd tattoo,” said Polis. “It’s not Dalish.   I’m sure I’ve seen one like it before, though.”

       “A Crow identification?”

       “That’s what I’m thinking.”

       Enavir and Cillian followed him to where the merchant was waiting.   He had a dusky skin, dark hair and an Antivan accent, fine clothes and several attendants, including bodyguards.   He started a tirade the moment he saw them with Polis.

       “Are you in charge here?   This is an outrage.   I have been robbed of my cargo.”

       “A cargo of slaves,” Enavir said flatly.

       “It is legitimate merchandise.   I have papers. These people are indentured servants and their contract has been sold on.”

       “And you are?

       “Prince Stephano Valisti of Treviso.”

       “Let’s see these papers,” said Enavir.

       He handed them over and Enavir gave a cursory glance over the contents, concentrating on the signature at the bottom.

       Enavir turned to Polis. “Did you ask if any of the people were travelling willingly?”

       Polis nodded. “They weren’t.   They signed under duress.”

       “Well, Stephano, it seems I have a problem.   A forced signature is not valid in our country. In any case, the document only applies in Antiva.   They are indentured to work there until their debt is paid off.   It is illegal to make these people travel outside of the country against their will.   Now if you would be so kind as to turn around and go home, I will look into the matter with the authorities in Antiva City.”

       “What about my merchandise?”

       “I repeat; I am confiscating your cargo until the illegalities of this document have been fully investigated.   Good day to you.”

       “You dare to dismiss me.”  

       Stephano went for his sword but Enavir was quicker and brought Glandivalis to rest on Stephano’s arm before his hand could draw the sword from its scabbard.   The other elves in the area immediately readied their weapons and Cillian summoned his spectral blade.  

       “Don’t push it, Stephano,” said Enavir quietly. “I’ll happily kill you if you make me.”

       Stephano released the sword and started to back off, indicating his retainers should follow him.

       “You haven’t heard the last of this,” he sneered.   “You will regret crossing me.”

       “Give the Crows my regards,” responded Enavir sweetly.   “Comte Enavir Lavellan of Clan Revassan.   Mind you get the name right.”

       There was a flicker of acknowledgement on Stephano’s face that he had hit the mark about his sponsors but he quickly recovered his composure, vaulted onto his horse and rose off at a furious gallop, leaving his followers to deal with the wagons.

       “Well that was fun,” said Cillian with a wry smile.

       “He means it,” said Polis.   “They’ll come after you personally now.”

       “I’m counting on it.   I’ll not have anyone else suffer for my actions.”

       “I’d have been happy enough,” said Cillian.   “Surely pulling my rank would have sufficed to shut him up?”

       “It’s just possible they could have some way of appealing to the Archon.   Let’s keep your Tevinter status in reserve should we need it.   If the Crows do their homework properly, they’ll realise who I was.   May be that will be enough to give them pause.”

       “What about the people we freed?” said Polis.

       “Ask them. They are welcome to stay, at least for the time being, while they decide what they want to do. I’m sure you can advise them of the benefits of staying in Telanadas. If they want to return home, give them money for the journey.   Good work, Polis.”

       “It was a pleasure,” said Polis and his smile as he said this was genuine.

       Once back at Telanadas Enavir took his mother on a tour of their settlement, whilst Cillian and Atisha organised their new arrivals. Most of the cave dwellings had now been finished and Deshanna was intrigued at the idea.

       “Living under ground like the durgen’len, that’s something we’ve never considered.”

       “Not as deep as the dwarves but it does make a lot of sense, particularly if you fear dragon fire.”

       “Should we?”

       “Not at present but who knows in the future.   The Evanuris could take dragon form, so if Fen’Harel should release them, it may prove necessary in the future. The Hero of Ferelden also mentioned visiting some ruins underground where elves seemed to dwell in the past and we discovered what remained of Arlathan in the forest and that was underground too.”

       “I thought that the Imperium sank Arlathan.”

       “No, from what we can tell, it was the ancient ones who ordered it sunk to fool the Magisters so they could be kept from entering the true city.   Cillian thinks we may need to use it in the future ourselves.”

       “But you don’t?”

       “They never had any regard for our ancestors, mother.   We were sacrificed to keep them safe, likely ordered to run and not reveal what they knew.   Thus our people ended up slaves of the Imperium and the ancient ones escaped.   There are disturbing murals as well, showing the sort of things that Andruil and her followers used to do.   I have no love for the place and thought it better buried in truth.” He shrugged. “Cillian is probably right, though, and it may yet prove our salvation.   With so many more arriving than we originally planned for, they will need to go somewhere.   The ancient city is as good a place as any.”

       “I begin to understand now why going there made you so ill.   Cillian is wise, though, not to let emotions get in the way of practicality when the welfare of so many is at stake.   I’m glad you don’t resent his over ruling you.”

       “I did at the time but I wasn’t in the best frame of mind.   We work as a team, that way if one of us is out of sorts the others can compensate.   I could hardly resent the way he has shouldered his responsibilities. I truly couldn’t have succeeded without him and the rest of the clan.”

       “That’s good to know,” she nodded.

       His mother was content to play an advisory role in the new community and not interfere in the direct running of the government.   Atisha was grateful for her input on administrative matters but Deshanna soon found her niche in running a similar enterprise to the one she had established in Wycome.   Her expertise in herb lore was invaluable, as was the popularity of her herbal cures.   She quickly set about establishing some bee hives.

      


	24. Chapter 24

       Cillian was still troubled over Enavir’s vulnerability to mind control and the lack of an approach by the spirit.   Enavir’s sword fighting skills had improved immeasurably in the intervening weeks from his illness but clearly not enough to impress the spirit of the sword.   Enavir wondered if the problem was still a lack of understanding about the nature of the spirit and its relationship to the bearer of the sword.   As Dorian was using their quarters for study, he took a ride up to a quiet grove that overlooked Telanadas, taking his notebook with him, and looked back at the observations he had been making about the Chant of Light and associated history, re-examining passages of particular interest, hoping for inspiration.

       _Drakon believed he had divine sanction to act as he did because he claimed he had a vision from the Maker.   He destroyed all the other cults to the Maker and Andraste in the south and replaced them with his own version._

_Hessarian claimed it was the voice of the Maker that encouraged him to show mercy to Andraste.   Altus mages claimed Andraste appeared to them in the Fade.   Hessarian never heard Andraste himself and did not accept any of her teaching.   His state religion venerating the Maker was based entirely on what he believed about himself._

_Raven wrote in her journal that the Guardian of the Gauntlet rebuked Leliana for thinking she had a vision from the Maker. How could she think that when everyone knew the Maker had left?   He spoke only to Andraste. The Guardian also said that he must guard the ashes until Tevinter crumbled into the sea.   When people from the Chantry returned to the site later, the ashes and the Guardian were gone._

_The Guardian was the spirit of one of the original followers of Andraste, who took the ashes to the mountain in order to keep them safe.   He was closer to what Andraste taught and people believed in her time. He would not have approved of the claims of either Hessarian or Drakon. He left with the ashes because he didn’t want the Chantry to find them._

       Enavir thought about these notes and reached a conclusion.

       _I was right all along; neither of the Chantries reflects the true faith of Andraste._

       He turned to his next set of notes.

       _Drakon’s Chantry claimed that the Maker would return when the Chant was sung throughout the world.   This justifies every Exalted March they make.   They encourage charitable works but they do not insist upon adherence to the laws of the Maker by all.   Most nobles only pay lip service to these moral imperatives of the Chant._

_Andraste claims he said to her: “To My children venture, carrying wisdom, if they but listen, I shall return.”_

_To show that you have listened, you need to respond.   Singing praises is not enough.   The Maker did not approve when his first children did this, why should his second children be any different?_

_The Chantry claims that magic is a corrupting influence and many believe it is a curse. Andraste taught that it was a gift of the Maker.   He wanted people to use it in the service of others and to create wonders for them to enjoy._

_The Dalish call their gods Creators.   The Avaar call spirits their gods.   They ask spirits for assistance and the spirits help them.   The Creators were called that because they created their civilisation through guiding and teaching the elves.   They also created wonders._

_Andraste calls spirits the first children of the Maker.   What if the passage about the creation of the material world and the second born children said “mortals” instead of “men”? That would mean the passage referred to elves, dwarves, qunari, titans and any sentient creature._

_Were the Creators originally benign spirits that became corrupt or simply mortals?   Andraste names spirits as the false gods because they tried to usurp the Maker.   First there were the Evanuris, no longer Creators but god kings, using their magic to dominate others and make them their slaves.   Then there were the Old Gods of the Neromenians and other human tribes, who insisted they would give power if they would forsake the Maker.   Then their human allies used their magic to dominate others and made them their slaves._

_All magic is a gift of the Maker, whether spirit or mortal.   When it is used for the benefit of others, for healing, protection or creating wonders that reveal the beauty of creation, it is not contrary to the Maker’s will.   When it is used to subjugate and for destruction, then it grieves the Maker.   Magic is not corrupting of itself but we use it for corrupt purposes._

_Malign spirits will not help you without asking something in return.   They will deny the existence of the Maker or demand that you reject him.   They use forbidden magic and encourage you to do the same.   Benign spirits only want to help.   They will respond to the request of the noble hearted and ask for nothing but your friendship._

_We are all the Maker’s children, spirits and mortals.   We should all listen to our Maker and work together to make the whole of creation a better place.   The evil ones will try to prevent this._

       Enavir became aware of something stroking his skin, making it prickle like electricity.   He closed his eyes for a moment and felt a presence there but as yet nothing more.   He felt a strange sense of calm; whatever was near him, it meant him no harm. He opened his eyes and again studied his notes.

       _Spirits are the first children of the Maker.   He gave them the Fade to be their own.   When we summon them against their will, it is no better than slavery.   The Fade is their home, Thedas is our home.   Both may be under threat from Solas’ plans.   We should work together to prevent this.   Spirits simply want to help, just as they always have.   It is our emotions and ambition which corrupted them in the past, just as we influence other mortals by our actions._

       I should learn to trust more, he thought.   Friends may be found in unlikely places.   He sensed that the spirit was close and he felt no fear.

       _The Canticle of Shartan wasn’t originally part of the Chant.   Then in 1:8 the Divine asked for a translation to be made.   This means she knew about Shartan but until then hadn’t thought it necessary to include the contribution of the elves._

_The Imperium had always maintained they were the cradle of civilisation.   They denied the use they made of elven ruins and artefacts.   They claimed our stories of immortality and elven magic were fanciful tales.   They forbade our religion and our customs.   They insisted they had the right to rule.   Magic was a gift of their gods._

_Hessarian would not have mentioned Shartan.   He would have been an embarrassment; an elven slave who rose against his masters.   The scholars say there were numerous uprisings all with a Shartan._

       Enavir smiled to himself, convinced of the truth that he previously asserted to Dorian.

       _There were uprisings that occurred after Andraste’s death. They occurred across the Imperium and nearly caused its collapse. Each leader took the name Shartan to inspire his followers.   The Liberator lived on in legend.   Hessarian was forced to give us our freedom._

_Drakon and his Divine reflected the arrogance of Tevinter in their Chant.   They removed the references to elves or changed words to seem like they spoke only of humans.   They would gladly have omitted Shartan altogether but Drakon needed an alliance of the elves. So his Divine asked for a translation of the elven legend of Shartan, so the elves would think he honoured his memory.   Ameridan was fooled.   The other Dalish were not.   They said Drakon was no better than the Imperium.   That was the literal truth._

_Shartan was included when politically convenient and excluded for the same reason.   The Canticle of Shartan records what we believed in the Dales at that time.   Ameridan reflected what we believed in the Dales at that time.   It was possible to honour the Maker and the Creators.   To us they were benign teachers and they encouraged the same values as the Maker.   We did not know otherwise. Andraste honoured Shartan and called him her brother and her Champion.   He and his people were loyal to Andraste when all others failed her and abandoned her to her fate.   She gave him her mother’s sword, Glandivalis.   Its name means “believer”, or may be “blade of faith”._

       Another thought struck him.   A passage recalled to memory.   He flipped back through his copy of the Chant of Light, looking for it.   Then he found it.   In the Canticle of Exaltations, the false prophesy that Drakon claimed came to him from the Maker.

       _“But the Lady took my hands from my eyes,_

_Saying, “Remember the fire._

_You must pass through it alone to be forged anew._

_Look! Look upon the Light so you_

_May lead others here through the darkness._

_Blade of the Faith.”_

       Enavir stared with a growing sense of outrage at the last line.

       _Blade of the Faith?   Glandivalis!   Drakon is maintaining he is Andraste’s Champion, he is her Glandivalis. That title was given to Shartan in perpetuity.   There was to be no other Champion.   Only Shartan and those who wished to perpetuate his memory. Only those who truly honour the Maker’s teaching are worthy of the title and the sword, only those who would willingly die in the defence of those who cannot defend themselves, only those who stand for the cause of freedom. Drakon committed sacrilege in taking that title and then using it to drown the world in the blood of the faithful._

_What did Andraste really stand for?   Why did the Maker only speak to her?_

He flicked through the pages of the Chant of Light until he came to the Canticle of Andraste. This was one of the oldest parts of the Chant, allegedly based on the actual account Andraste gave of her encounter with the Wellspring of All. Andraste was lamenting the death of her people at the hands of the Magisters, crying out for someone to hear and give her hope for a better future.  

       _Andraste cared about people. She wanted to help them. The Maker answered and offered to take her away from the suffering of the world where she would have a great realm with no sorrow but she refused.   Instead she appealed for him to return and help his children.   He agreed if she would carry his wisdom to the world and the people would listen._

       He considered for a few minutes.  

       _When the Maker made that offer, it was a test of her motives.   She didn’t want power for herself but only for what she could do for others.   That is why the Maker entrusted her with his mission.   In the past people had only called on the Maker in the hope of receiving power from him to aid their own schemes.   When he refused to take sides, they abandoned him for others that would._

       He turned back to the Canticle of Shartan and read her words to him at their first meeting.

       _“Truly the Maker has called upon you, just as He called me,_

_To be a Light for your People._

_The host you see before you march,_

_Bearing His will north, where we shall deliver it_

_To Minrathous, city of magisters, and we shall tear down_

_The unassailable gates, and set all slaves free.”_                                               

       Andraste recognised Shartan as her equal!   If she was chosen by the Maker, then so was he.   He felt he understood now.   They both did believe in the same thing.   It wasn’t about the deity alone but what he stood for.   Andraste said they had both been chosen by the Maker to be a light for their respective people and lead them to freedom.

       _Freedom, they believed in freedom.   That is why the Maker doesn’t do more directly in the world.   He inspires and gives us his wisdom to live by but he wants us to be free.   He is not some tyrant, ruling by fear as other false gods do.   He is the light of hope, showing us the path to a better future.   I am Enavir, the pathfinder and I believe in freedom for all._

       He went to where the sword hung in its scabbard and withdrew it.   Holding the blade in his hands, he closed his eyes and focussed on the name.

_“The true leader guides, teaches and inspires, not dominates, subjugates and enslaves. They respect all people, no matter where they were born or what their natural abilities are.   This is the true faith of the Maker; Elgar’Bellanaris, whose wisdom is eternal and will aid us if we only believe it in our hearts. All the children of the Maker should be free. Glandivalis, help me to be worthy of bearing you in the service of freedom. Let me be your Shartan.”_

       Another voice responded in his mind and he felt a thrill of ecstasy pass through him.

       “ _Take this my champion and free our People forever._ ”

       There followed a pervading sense of calm that he had not known since before Solas had revealed his plan to destroy the world. They were not alone in their struggles.   He gave a deep sigh of contentment and replaced the sword in its sheath.   Then he closed his eyes, relaxed his mind and focussed on the word ‘freedom’.

       “ _Okay Bellanaris, I’m listening. Where should I go next?”_


	25. Chapter 25

       Enavir broke the news to Dorian after dinner. “I won’t be going to Minrathous.”

       Dorian looked genuinely crestfallen. “I thought we were going together.   Isn’t that what you wanted?”

       “I thought I did but I realise now you were right; I’ll just cause too much trouble when you don’t need it.”

       “You think I’m right?” Dorian spoke cautiously.   “That’s something of a turn around.   I’m sensing there is more to this, so give.”

       “I’ve been struggling with myself ever since meeting Solas, losing my arm and disbanding the Inquisition. In all honesty I should have given myself longer to recover. I’ve been tense much of the time, often flaring up in response to situations and then feeling guilty about it. I was just so driven to prove I hadn’t been adversely affected by it all that I refused to acknowledge I had. That it all didn’t go wrong with me before it did is down to you all supporting me, a bit of divine providence and sheer dumb luck.”

       “Fine, so you’ve finally realised you are a bit of a head case.   I could have told you that. I think it’s what I find so endearing about you.”

       “Joke if you must but I know it hasn’t been easy for you and you’ve been nothing but loyal to me.  The last thing you need right now is me storming into Minrathous and rubbing the entire Magisterium up the wrong way.”

       “So that’s a possibility is it?” Dorian raised an eyebrow at him.

       “You know it is.   I’m no diplomat. Whereas it turns out you are rather good in that respect. Besides I’ve finally found my faith. To be honest I never really lost it, because it is something I’ve always believed in, but before it was more an ideal I was committed to and I criticised the Chantry without really having an alternative to put in its place.   Now I know it is part of my Dalish heritage.   We’ve tended to play down Shartan to an extent and ignore the Maker because of the link with the Chantry, concentrating on our own gods.   Well I can’t really believe in them anymore, even if I do still honour what we think they stood for, and I need to believe in something tangible, not simply a vague, comforting idea that someone is watching out for us out there, but choosing not getting involved.”

       “Like me, you mean?”

       “That’s not a criticism; it works for you, it just doesn’t work for me.   Cillian had been worrying that the spirit hadn’t made contact with me because he felt that made me vulnerable to more attempts on my mind.   I re-read all my notes on the Chant and the Maker and that’s when I realised that the southern Chantry really doesn’t teach the faith of Andraste, not as my people understood it.   Mind you, I don’t think yours does either.”

       “That’s very even handed of you.” Dorian said with a smirk.

       “I believe in what Andraste and Shartan believed in.   I suggest you take a look at the Canticle of Shartan.   It really is subversive.”

       He handed over his copy of the Chant of Light, the book mark already in place on the Canticle of Shartan.

       “Look at verse 26.   Andraste acknowledges Shartan as her equal in the eyes of the Maker.   You were right.   She never thought of herself as the Maker’s Bride.   She saw herself as a Light to guide her people to a better future and said that the Maker had called Shartan to be her equivalent to the elves.”

       “So it does.” Dorian sounded mildly astonished.

       “Keep reading.   What does she say they are going to do?”

       “Oh…” Dorian sounded troubled and looked up at Enavir.

       Enavir nodded. “Their mission was to set all slaves free.   You can look from end to end of the Canticle and there is nothing about spreading the Chant of Light.   Everything is about freedom.   When you look at the Canticle of Andraste and the instruction the Maker gave to her, it only speaks of carrying his wisdom to the world.   You said it yourself; in the story of creation his criticism of the spirits is that they do nothing other than sing his praises.   The Maker demands action but ultimately he is the god of freedom, so he gives us guidelines and then leaves us to follow them, giving inspiration rather than forcing himself on us.”

       “And so you are now committed to setting the slaves free everywhere?”

       “Yes, but you were also right about equating poverty with slavery.   There are many different forms of slavery.   People need liberating from poverty and oppression but also fear and despair.   You want to liberate your people from their dependence on blood magic and their selfish ambition that corrupts and weakens your homeland.   You are still trying to free people but in a different way.”

       “An interesting way of looking at it; still I’ll take that as a vote of confidence.”

       “It isn’t enough just to free people though.   They need to be taught the right values to live by.   Up to now I’ve just got the liberati to swear to my code but that isn’t nearly enough with so many people arriving in Telanadas.   Before I move on elsewhere, I need to make sure there is a sound foundation to build on here.   All those other little communities that I’ve been establishing were manageable within the local system of laws.   Here is different.   If it isn’t going to ultimately descend into chaos and anarchy, there has to be a proper government in place.   Otherwise no one is going to be encouraged to take the plunge and follow our lead.”

       “I can’t argue with that. Still, can’t I be of assistance?”

       “I think it would be best if we did this one on our own, to prove we can.   Besides you really do need to get back to Minrathous.   I think you have been called by the Maker to be a Light to your people.   Lucerni does mean light doesn’t it?   Dorian, the Redeemer.”

       “I’m not a prophet, Amatus.”

       “That’s what I said about being Herald.   You will recall you said I was what we needed when we needed it.   Then you said I’d inspired you with my antics and resolved to go back to Tevinter and do the same.     That’s how the Maker works in the world.   Bellanaris is a spirit, so it makes sense he helps by inspiring and influencing us, even if we aren’t consciously aware of it.   Freedom will return to Thedas when we listen to his wisdom.”

       Dorian rolled his eyes.   “Settle down, Amatus, your religious fervour is making me uneasy.   I’ll just settle for doing what I can to further your cause with the Archon.   Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to stay?”

       “Do you really have to ask?   Of course I _want_ you to stay.   I meant it when I said you were right, about so many things.   We both still have important things to do but in different places.   Keeping you here would be selfish of me.” He gave a self-conscious smile. “Call it penance if you like, for ever having doubted your devotion to me.”

       “That would suggest that you think the Maker approves of us.”

       “Don’t you?”

       “Hmm, divinely sanctioned, well that’s a new one on me.”

       “Doesn’t he bless marriage here in Tevinter?”

       “The Chantry claim they offer blessing in his name but you’ve already said they have nothing to do with him and in any case my parents’ marriage was anything but blessed.”

       “Then let _us_ renew our vows and ask _his_ blessing, just the two of us and him as witness. I’ve told you more than once, you are my soul mate but I’d like to profess it before our god, so he’ll be watching over _us_.” He paused and said gently. “If that’s okay with you?”

       Dorian gave a warm smile and nodded. “Go ahead.”

       They both stood up and faced one another. Enavir took Dorian’s hand in his and looked earnestly into his eyes.

       “Ar lath ma, Dorian Pavus, there will never be another for me in this world or the Beyond, as Bellanaris is my witness; Ar vhenan las ma.”

       Dorian squeezed his hand in return.

       “I love you, Enavir Lavellan, there will never be another for me in this world or the Fade, as the Maker is my witness; I give you my heart.”

       Dorian let go of his hand, gently clasped his face and kissed him, tender and passionate in equal measure.   Finally he stepped back and looked thoughtful.

       “Your newly acquired faith doesn’t require you to be celibate does it?”

       Enavir laughed. “You didn’t think to ask before making your vows? I’m touched at your devotion.   Then he raised his eyebrows expressively. “What do you think?”

       “That’s a relief.     Do I take it that the spirit has made contact with you?”

       “That’s right.   I offered myself to the cause of freedom and the spirit accepted.”

       “I see.   So this spirit is watching over you now?”

       “I guess so, if Cillian is right about how these things work. It’s a guardian spirit.   It isn’t bound to the sword, just has a vested interest in the bearer but it wouldn’t touch my mind without being asked.   Now we have a sort of latent connection and as a result it prevents any other spirit from approaching.”

       “Hmm, it’s my understanding that the trade-off is that the spirit gets to experience everything you do.” He grinned wickedly.   “How about we give your helpful spirit an entirely new insight into the world?”

       Enavir rolled his eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.   Now I’m going to be self-conscious.”

       Dorian laughed. “I’m sure you’ll get over it.”

******

       As soon as Cillian was informed that Enavir wasn’t intending travelling to Minrathous, he declared he wouldn’t be going there either.

       “I thought you wanted to visit the archives.”

       “Dorian can do that.   Where you go, I go.   It’s my duty in life, that’s what arcane warriors do.   I’m your body guard.”

       “But you’re the Magister, I should be guarding you.”

       “I only took that title because you asked me to.   Plus I wanted to show that a powerful mage could lead a community and not get drunk on power.   I’ve called myself Keeper and am comfortable enough with that title, since I have given you spiritual guidance and helped enlighten you about ancient lore, just as the Keepers did in the Dales, but my true calling has always been that of an arcane warrior.   In the days of old Arlathan they guarded the leaders of their communities and the people generally from their enemies.   They called them the Emerald Knights, whilst those who particularly patrolled and protected the regions adjoining the Fade were known as the Fade Hunters.”

       “So that’s where we got the names from?”

       “People in the Dales found references to Emerald Knights in ruins around the area and understood they were guardians, which is why they gave the name to the soldiers who protected our borders.   Most of them weren’t mages but we didn’t know about their connection with the order of arcane warriors.   I only discovered the link from my spirit.   All arcane warriors had a familiar spirit but our ancestors didn’t know that or misunderstood the references, so they had guardian wolves instead.”

       “Is that why you were so committed to starting the Emerald Knights again?”

       “On both counts really, ancient lore and what they did for the Dales.   It is why it meant so much to have Evanura.”

       “I’m surprised you didn’t ask for Glandivalis.”

       “No, Glandivalis is yours.   You claimed it and you were right to do so.”

       “It’s good of you to say so.”

       “The spirit has befriended you; that wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t worthy of the sword.”

       “How did you know?”

       “I sense its presence near you.   Besides my spirit told me that you had bonded; you know how anxious I was that it should happen. Your spiritual connection with Dorian will protect him and he will be safe from mental intrusion too.”

       “Why have people not realised this before?   It would have made people so much safer.”

       “The Chantry warned against dabbling with all spirits, Tevinter tended to simply use them without giving them any respect and for some reason we lost that part of our ancient lore whilst we were enslaved. May be there were too many negative emotions, so we only encountered the wrong sort of spirits or possibly we associated them too much with Tevinter and their summoning of demons.   These spirits only want to help but most people have given them very little incentive to do so.   They aren’t ambitious like demons and some just haven’t been interested enough in mortal affairs to try and make contact.   Others have been repelled by the emotions they encountered.   The guardians are particularly choosy about whom they attempt to contact, even though they do want to interact and experience something of the real world.”   Cillian gave a knowing smile.   “I’m sure your spirit isn’t regretting its interest in you and Dorian.   A rather novel experience I should imagine after so many years.”

       “How ….?”

       “Like I’ve said before, an educated guess, plus I have the room next to yours and sound really _does_ travel.”


	26. Chapter 26

       The following morning Enavir had one final thing he wanted to do before Dorian left.   He led him down to the vhenadahl tree and placed an emerald green shield with gold, silver, red and orange flames in the centre, alongside the others that represented the elven heroes of the past.

       “This one is for you,” he explained. “It’s to honour you and Andraste.”

       “For me? Dorian queried with puzzled look. “Are you trying to make me the girl again? Besides I thought you found the idea insulting that she and Shartan were lovers.”

       “I’m not saying you are literally Andraste but what it symbolises.   What we are doing here is not just for the elves but everyone, just as with all these heroes, and you are part of it. Despite what some Dalish would claim, we are not from a long line of nobility.   I’m one of the common people, a descendant of slaves, just like Shartan.   Andraste was different.   The Chantry tried to maintain she was just some young girl dragged off into slavery; then escaped and returned to her homeland to marry a chieftain.   That’s not true; she was a Gothi, a princess of both the Alamaari and the Ciriane before she married him.   Maferath needed her for his status with the barbarians, so they would unite behind him. ”

       “So his jealousy could have been real.”

       “Of her hold over his horde certainly.   The Maker wasn’t captivated by her voice alone.   He recognised her as a true leader, who cared for her people.   That’s what she was crying out for; liberation for her people from constant warfare, fear and tyranny.   I believe the Maker offered her freedom for herself from the sorrow and anguish of the world as more of a test than a desire to make her his bride.   She refused because she wouldn’t abandon her people.   So the Maker entrusted her with his mission to be a light of hope to us all.   In a way, she and Shartan didn’t fail; they simply breached the gates of Minrathous in a different way, inspiring onlookers in the process.   You were born a noble and like Andraste you are worthy of the title. Whatever you like to maintain, Dorian, naming your group the Lucerni was no coincidence.   You are a light to your people, just as Andraste was, showing them the way to salvation.”

       Dorian gave a smile and shook his head gently.   “Okay, Amatus, I give in, I’ll take the comparison as a compliment, even though I’m not sure that I deserve it.”

       “That’s exactly the reason why you do.”  

       They set out together, as Enavir intended accompanying Dorian as far as Carastes.   The first shipment of lyrium had arrived from Orzammar, so they travelled with the dwarf caravan, accompanied by Cillian and a detachment of the newly designated Emerald Knights, led by Enansal, to ensure its safety as far as the port.   The Knights wore tabards of emerald green embroiderd with a golden tree, surrounded by twelve silver stars, to represent the waters of the Fade, the tree of unity and the twelve divisions of Emerald Knights who were now entrusted with the defence of their homeland.

       Almost a year to the day since their previous parting, Enavir stood on a dockside once more with Dorian as he prepared to leave.

       “You realise I have missed Satinalia in Minrathous _again._ ” Dorian pretended to be aggrieved.

       “You didn’t seem to be missing it much last night, or the night before, or the night before that.” Enavir smirked.

       Dorian shook his head in admonishment, “Hardly the behaviour for a holy prophet.”      

       “Are you forgetting? We asked his blessing on our union.”

       “Oh, so that’s why you kept appealing to the deity to bear witness to your enjoyment.” His face became more serious. “You will be okay, won’t you?”

       “I’ll be fine.   We’ve still got the crystals and spiritually we’re never truly apart.”

       He looked across to where the final crate of lyrium was being loaded.

       “Tell your Archon that we will ensure the safety of his lyrium shipments and any other supplies that the Imperium needs but there will be no more slaves from beyond the eastern borders of his country, in case anyone should raise objections.”

       “Well that’s as subtle as a kick in the head.   Essentially saying to him, what’s more important to you, slaves or lyrium?”

       “Good, I’m glad you got the message?” Enavir grinned. “Let’s hope the Crows get the idea too.”

       “You realise I’ll be worried sick.   People don’t cross the Crows and live.”

       “Thought you said that Tevinter assassins could show them a thing or two? Well, you just remember, Dalish assassins are notorious too.   Plus the Crows couldn’t keep the Qunari from conquering Antiva in the Steel Age but we _saved_ Qarinus.   That should help you sleep at night.”

       “I sometimes forget just how good you _are_ at killing things.   So after you’ve conquered the Crows, what are you planning next?”

       Enavir smiled wickedly. “Do you really want to know?”

       Dorian considered for a moment. “On second thoughts, it’s probably best I don’t. Plausible deniability and all that; just make sure you give me a heads up before you go public with it.”

       “Absolutely.”

       The captain made the final call for Dorian to board the ship.

       “Well, I guess this is goodbye then, for now.”   Dorian pulled him into a fierce embrace.   “You mind you look after yourself and let others help if you need it.”  

       “You watch your back and keep safe. I’ll come to Minrathous eventually, probably when you least expect it. Bellanaris protect you.”

       They had a last prolonged kiss and then Dorian boarded the ship. As it drew away from the quay and headed for open water, Enavir led the elves in a rendition of Suledin, the traditional song of the Dalish about enduring and emerging from sorrow, yet it no longer seemed as sorrowful as it once had but instead a reminder that determined struggle will eventually be rewarded. Enavir put his own interpretation on the words for Dorian, adapting its meaning to their personal situation as was traditional among the Dalish.

       _Lath sulevin (Be certain my love)_

_Lath aravel ena (And the path of love will emerge)_

_Arla vent u vir mahvir (To a home tomorrow)_

_Melana ‘nehn (And time will again)_

_Enansal ir sa lethalin (Be a blessing, kinsman)_

       Cillian moved alongside as their song ended.

       “So where are we going next in the cause of freedom?”

       Enavir answered with the word that had constantly replayed in his mind since he had asked Bellanaris for guidance. “Seheron.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This novel was intended as a bridge between the events of Trespasser and the next game (whenever that may be), which is why I was trying to correspond on the whole with the epilogue of the DLC, particularly with regard to where Dorian is meant to be in relation to his lover. I am working on a sequel as you might guess from the last line but this will take longer as I am definitely going to have to bite the bullet and simply go with my own canon. Tentative title: "The Fog of War".


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